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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





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IN TRUST 


OR 


DR BERTEARD’S HOUSEHOLD 


BY ^ 

AMANDA M. DOUGLAS 


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BOSTON MDCCCXCI 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

10 MILK STREET NEXT “ THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE ” 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 
LEE AND SHEPARD, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachuse<-ts. 


Copyright, 1894, by Amanda M. Douglas 


IN TRUST 


DEDICATION 


IN MEMORY OF DREAMS LONG CHERISHED 

IN MEMORY OF PLEASANT WALKS AND PLEASANT TALKS 
AND YEARS OF TRUEST AFFECTION 

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO 


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IN TRUST 


OR 

DR. BERTRAND’S HOUSEHOLD 


CHAPTER I. 


I see thee sitting crowned with good, 

A central warmth diffusing bliss 
Tn glance and smile, and clasp and kiss, 
On all the branches of thy blood. 

Tennyson. 

Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken its flight. 

Shelley. 


“ It’s all settled, then, Richard ? ” 

“ With your approval, yes. Ada liked the plan as much 
as I did. She was disappointed at not going to Europe last 
year with her uncle.” 

“ But she will enjoy it better, now, eh ? ” and Dr. Bertrand 
looked up with a roguish twinkle in his merry hazel eye. 
“ Well, you must not devote all your time to love ; use your 
eyes and ears to some purpose, and come back with increased 
wisdom and experience. A young man may gain many a 
useful hint from those London and Paris physicians. And, 
Dick — ” 

Dr. Bertrand’s pause was so long that Richard turned 
around, and found his father’s eyes fixed steadily on the 
carpet. Presently he began : — 

W 


6 


IN TRUST, OR 


“I was about to remark, Dick, that Ada’s fortune hai 
been attended to. I suppose it is all settled on herself? ” 

A warm color flushed the young man’s face as he an- 
swered, “Yes, I insisted upon her retaining undisputed 
possession of it, although she thought it unnecessary.” 

“ Eight. T want no one to call Dr. Bertrand’s son a for- 
tune-hunter. I’ve arranged yours so there’ll be no trouble. 
Marchand & Co. will attend to it here and at Paris. Don’t 
give yourself a moment’s uneasiness for the next two years. 
When you return, I shall divide my practice ; it’s too large 
for me now. I want to make a little money for the other 
children, and then — ” 

“We shall all be grown up and settled around you, striv- 
ing to make you the happiest of fathers.” 

“ A long while to look forward,” Dr. Bertrand exclaimed, 
musingly. “ In any event, Dick, you will have the consola- 
tion that you have been a dutiful son — a comfort and a 
blessing. You’ll remember this if you should come back, 
and — ” 

“ Don’t,” interrupted Eichard, suddenly. 

Dr. Bertrand laughed, raised himself to his full height, 
swelled out his broad chest by a deep inspiration, and 
brought his fat, dimpled hand down on his son’s shoulder. 
“ No,” he said, laughingly ; “ I don’t look much like ‘ the 
retired physician whose sands of life have nearly run out ; ’ 
yet the Master warned us always to be ready. Twenty-six 
years ago ! I was thinking it over just as you came in : 
how happy we were that night, — she singing those sweet 
old Scotch ballads until the room rang with her melody, — 
and how I picked her up in my arms, and carried her off to 
her room ; yet before dawn she had kissed me for the last 
time, and gone home with the angels. But Grod has recon- 
ciled me to it through my boy’s unselfish affection, and his 
high, unerring sense of honor. You have never cost me an 
hour’s anxiety, Eichard ; you have been kind and obedient to 
her who took your mother’s place, and a fond brother to the 


DU. bertkand’s household. 


7 


rest. In the new life opening before you, though you’ll 
never forget us, another is to share your love ; children will 
grow up around you, increasing your cares and interest ; 
and God grant they may be as faithful to you as 3^ou have 
been to me.” 

Dr. Bertrand resumed his seat, and leaned his head on 
his hand, while there fell between them a deep and touching 
silence, broken at length by Eichard, who said, in a full, ten- 
der tone, “ Thank you a hundred times for your praise and 
your priceless love, and believe me I shall never think of you 
otherwise than as the best and dearest friend I ever had.” 

Dr. Bertrand pulled out his watch, and, with an attempt 
at gayety, exclaimed, “ Eight o’clock, Eichard ; Ada will 
wonder if her lover means to turn truant.” 

He crimsoned visibljr, picked up his gloves from the desk, 
then came back a step, and, leaning over his father, kissed the 
broad, white forehead that had always been his admiration. 
In a moment the doctor’s arms were around his neck, and if 
in that clasp of truest love some tears came, who shall dare 
to call them weak ? Perhaps both were wondering if they 
should meet and love in this same fashion, when the years 
with their changes had gone by. Then Dick raised his head, 
said in a soft whisper, “ Good night,” and walked gently out 
of the room. 

His father fell into deep musing. In fancy he lived over 
the bright, brief past, read again the entrancing pages of that 
sweet first love, when he had blushed, and trembled, and 
feared to woo the fair girl who showed in so many ways her 
regard for him. And that country wedding, with its old-time 
music and dancing ! It made his heart bound now when he 
heard, “Money Musk,” “Irish Washerwoman,” or “Miss 
McLeod’s Eeel,” for it took him back to that night of all 
nights, and the year of bliss following. He had been a poor 
young doctor, not so old as Eichard was now; yet pov^erty 
had no stings for them. It was like a glimpse of fairy land, 
until the strange, fearful night, burned by passionate grief 


B 


IN THUST, OR 


to a depth beyond forgetfulness, when he kissed the small 
mouth, no longer warm and rosy, with the despairing fervoi 
we give to the dead in the first moments of anguish, and 
took his little motherless boy in his arms, conscious that 
some golden thread of the life just gone up among the 
angels ran through it. 

.He had overlived his grief, removed to the city, prospered 
in his calling, and married again. Other baby faces had 
learned to smile on him, and the new mother never failed to 
care tenderly for her husband’s first born. When his grand- 
father left Richard a small legacy, she was first to propose 
setting it aside until his majority. She, too, had gone to 
the better land, but her memory in Richard’s heart was a 
pleasant one. He was now possessor of ten thousand dol- 
lars, a fine education, and a prospect before him of a good 
marriage, besides several years of foreign travel. 

The children’s voices in the room above broke up Dr. 
Bertrand’s reverie. The gay, ringing laughs were irresisti- 
ble, and a moment later he was on his way up stairs to join 
the merriment. Opening the door, he saw his youngest, 
blindfolded, stretching out her dimple'd arms in the vain 
endeavor to catch somebody ; while the others, with aston- 
ishingly long steps, went from corner to corner, as if tread- 
ing on eggs, and their fingers to their lips, imploring silence 
in a most pathetic manner. 

“ P, Tessy, it’s papa ! Now’s your chance ; catch him ! ” 

Tessy stood uncertain, as if considering the whereabouts 
of the door, then made a sudden plunge in the opposite 
direction. 

What a little goose you are, Tess ! Come here, and let 
me feel for some feathers. She has caught every chair and 
table in the room, papa,” exclaimed Archie. 

The doctor made such a pretence of getting out of the 
way, they all laughed more heartily than before, and Tessy 
soon began to distinguish his step. Presently he marched 
into ai unlucky corner, which she blockaded, and in another 


T)R. Bertrand’s household. 


9 




moment had him safe and fast. “ Papa, papa ! ’’ she ex- 
claimed, triumphantly, “ Archie said I could not catch any 
one if I was blinded all night.” 

“ We’ll soon pay up Master Archie, I think,” said her 
father, kissing her fondly. 

“ 0, won’t you all have to look out ! ” cried Lilian, dancing 
around. “ There’ll be lively scampering ; and I do hope 
papa will lay violent hands on Archie the very first thing.” 

“ Pooh ! ” was Master Archie’s retort. 

Tessy blindfolded her father, and held up her small fin- 
gers for him to count, laughing with delight when he said 
thirteen. Then she led him to the middle of the room, and 
they did indeed have to “ scamper.” Round and round 
went the doctor, his long arms reaching everywhere ; yet, 
strange to say, they all managed to scramble otf, and, when 
one achieved a remarkably close escape, the rest shouted 
with triumph. A knock at the door caused a lull in the 
merriment. Mabel opened it. 

“If you please, doctor — ” 

“ What is it, Martin ? ” and Dr. Bertrand freed his eyes. 

“ Mr. Bridges has just come up, and Mr. Smalley sends 
for you. He’s had another bad turn. Will you go, sir ? ” 

“ I suppose I must,” was the rather reluctant answer. 

“ I wouldn’t stir a step. It’s beginning to storm, and 
you’ll take the journey for nothing. Next year, this time, 
you’ll hear the same story.” 

“ I think I had better go. Get up the horse, Martin.” 

“ Let me drive, sir ; it’s a lonesome looking night.” 

“ It is not worth while. I may have to remain some 
time.” 

Off went Martin, grumbling, “ Why couldn’t people die, 
and have done with it, when they alarmed the whole neigh- 
borhood ! Mr. Smalley was good for twenty years yet, if he 
was an old man. There was no sense in a doctor’s posting 
off such a night as this, unless the case was critical, or he 
was courting,” Martin put in, as he remembered Mr. Richard 


to 


IN TRUST, OR 


The children lamented more loudly, but in a differeal 
strain. It was too bad to have their fun spciled. Why 
wouldn’t morning do as well ? and they rang choruses on 
the key note, until Martin called out from the hall below, 
“ Heady, doctor.” 

“ You must be in bed and asleep before I come back ; ^o 
good night,” he said, kissing them all round. Mabel, nearly 
sixteen, tall and pretty; Lilian, wild and eager for play as a 
kitten, with the fine gold of thirteen summers in her cluster- 
ing culls; Archie, next in order, bright and rosy-cheeked; 
and darling little Tessy, the household baby, who had not 
yet outgrown her trick of sitting in every one’s lap. Now 
she clasped her arms around her father’s neck, and declared 
he should not go. 

“ Mabel must put you to bed immediately, or to-morrow 
your eyes will be green, instead of blue. Come, kiss me 
once more, and send me off.” 

But he had to unclasp the little hands himself ; and as he 
went out into the dark night, her laughing face, wdth its 
straggling rings of shining hair, seemed to light the way. 
How lovely and charming they all were ! It was almost a 
pity to have them grow up men and women. 

He drove rapidly through the drizzling rain, and soon 
reached his destination. The tidy housekeeper answered 
his summons, and he said, Well ? ” inquiringly. 

“Poor Mr. Smalley’s just gone, sir. He dropped off 
quietly at the last. I always thought it would be sudden, 
but we had no such idea when Mr. Bridges left.” 

“ When was he taken ? ” 

“ At five, sir. He was comfortable all the afternoon ; 
then his old trouble about breathing came on. It was nearly 
seven when Mr. Bridges called, and he fancied he saw a 
change; so he said he would send you down.” 

“ I started as soon as I received the message, but I could 
uot have saved him, I suppose. When did he die ? ” 

“ Fifteen minutes or so ago,” said the woman, lowering 


DR. BERTRAND’S HOUSEHOLD. 


il 


her voice ; for they had reached the apartment of death 
“ He just breathed shorter and shorter, and did not seem to 
suffer much.” 

Dr. Bertrand advanced to the bedside. The peculiar 
pallor of the countenance told him life- was extinct. A few 
neighbors had gathered in consultation, but there was no 
wife or children to break the silence with passionate sobbing. 
How lonely the house seemed ! No one to care for the dead 
man with tenderest hands! Servants and strangers sur- 
rounded him ; a few careless relatives would come on the 
morrow, glad to inherit his wealth ; but with the most it 
would be, “ Only an old man dead 1 ” 

Dr. Bertrand remained some time, discussing the prepara- 
tions, and writing a few messages. The darkness was in- 
tense as he turned his horse homeward ; but he thought of 
his cheerful house and loving children, his heart rising to 
Grod in thanksgiving for such blessings. Then the wind 
brought a noisy, roistering sound of bacchanalian glee, 
which caused him to start a little, listen, and hold the reins 
firmly. The party was evidently nearing him ; he could 
hear the plunge of the horses, and the drunken oaths of the 
driver, who seemed to be fiercely urging them on. There 
was a sudden dash. He sat quite still, and shouted, “ To 
the right ! keep to the right 1 ” then a violent concussion, at 
which his own horse reared ; he felt himself unseated, thrown, 
and striking against something with a crash that rendered 
him senseless. The other party, righting themselves a lit- 
tle, went on their way, too far gone to even dream of the 
harm they had done. 


12 


m TKUST, OK 


CHAPTEK II. 

The thread I held has slipped from out my hand; 

In this dark labyrinth, without a clew, 

Groping for guidance, stricken blind, I stand, 

A helpless child that knows not what to do. 

Bayard Tayia)f: 

“AV’hat can be the matter? The doctor is driving like 
Jehu ! ” exclaimed Martin, taking up his lantern and walking 
to the stable. There stood the panting horse, the reins 
trailing, and fragments of the broken traces hanging to him. 
“ Poor Robin, poor Robin, what has happened ? ” and he 
stroked the terrified animal, trying meanwhile to gather his 
wits together, as he phrased it. An accident was evident, 
but that the doctor might be seriously injured did not occur 
to him for some moments. He unharnessed the horse and 
led him to his stall, then considered what had better be 
done. To alarm the house would be folly ; the only sensible 
suggestion seemed to be to find Mr. Richard at once; so, 
lantern in hand, he sallied into the street. Proceeding a few 
steps, he met a watchman. 

“Was that Dr. Bertrand’s horse?” was the quick ques" 
tion. 

“ Yes. I’m afraid the doctor’s been thrown.” 

“ The horse came racing up Broad Street. Was the car- 
riage out, and where had the doctor been ?” 

“ Down to old Mr. Smalley’s, on the Elizabethtown 
road. I’m going after the young doctor. We must have a 
search” 

“ I’ll send some one to help you. Mr. Smalley’s, you said : 
I hope it’s nothing serious.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


13 


Martin had a sort of obstinate faith that it was “ nothing 
serious,” but he trudged rapidly along through the rain, which 
had by this time become drenching. He was not long in 
reaching his destination. Richard obeyed the summons, and 
listened to Martin’s brief story. 

“ My father ! I mustgo immediately ; ” and with a hurried, 
nervous kiss he left his betrothed, to follow Martin. 

“ Do you think anything can have happened, Mr. Richa::d ? 
The doctor couldn’t have come home as fast as the horse, 
and the carriage might have been broken, but — ” 

“We’ll hope for the best,” said Richard, reassuringly. 
“ When we reach Broad Street, you can take one side, and I 
the other. We may meet him.” 

The streets in the quiet city of Newark were dark and 
deserted ; few cared to be out on such a night. When he 
parted from Martin a strange sense of fear stole into Rich- 
ard’s heart. But no, he would not believe anything fatal 
could happen ; Dr. Bertrand might be injured by the fall ; 
good care would soon restore him to health. There were 
many happy years yet for that kind, tender father, when his 
grandchildren should climb his knees, and his own sons and 
daughters smile proudly over his white hair. Then a chill 
presentiment shivered through his frame, as he thought, of 
that evening’s conversation. Terror quickened his pace 
He soon overtook the watchman, and found it a relief to talk. 
On they went, narrowly inspecting every cart or wagon, lis- 
tening to the infrequent footsteps, and pausing at the slight- 
est sound. On, and on. 

“ If he’s been hurt they’ve taken him in somewhere,” said 
the man. “ It could not have been far from Mr. Smalley’s.” 

“We shall find the carriage, at all events,” responded 
Richard. 

The rain poured in torrents. The lantern served only to 
show how dark it really was. Presently they heard a call, 
and crossing the street, they found Martin surveying a broken 
vehicle. 


2 


14 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ A pretty good smash. It’s been run against by some- 
thing. You’re sure you know it ? ” 

“ I think I ought to,” said Martin, with some contempt foi 
the question. 

Richard took up a lantern, and went on silently, a great 
tvave of desolation rushing over his heart. He did not need 
to go far. Something lay beside a large stone — a dark 
mass, thoroughly saturated with rain. The outline bespoke 
it a human being. He could not look at the face, but with 
frantic eagerness tore open the clothing, and felt for the 
' heart. The body was warm ; that was the only sign of life to 
be found. The others came up, and were uttering exclama- 
tions of pity and surprise. 

“ Some one go for a carriage ; quick ! There is no time 
to be lost. Any person will assist in such an extremity ; ” 
and Richard lifted the body, so the head might rest on his 
shoulder. 

A conveyance was soon procured, and, as they drove along, 
the fond son chafed the cold hands he held so tenderly in 
his. He paused once to despatch Martin for a skilful physi- 
cian, and then scarcely breathed until they reached the fa- 
miliar mansiom, whose lights were still cheerfully shining out 
on the dreary night. He opened the door with his latch-key, 
and the men carried in their burden, depositing it on the 
office sofa. Richard went to summon the housekeeper, and 
ask for some dry clothes. Returning, a white face confronted 
him in the hall. 

“ What is the matter ? ” Mabel asked, fear fairly shivering 
in her tones. “Papa — ?” 

“ Has met with an accident. Gro up stairs, dear ; you can- 
not see him now.” 

“ He is not dead ! Only tell me that.” 

“ I will tell you all by and by. Here comes Dr. D 

She clung to his arm : “ Richard, if — Imust give him one 
last kiss.” 


DB, BEBTRAND’s household. 


“ You shall. 1 will let you know in half an hour. Do 
not disturb the others ; ” and he put her gently away. 

The poor frightened girl crept up to the room where thei? 
bad been so merry two short hours before. She could not 
shut her eyes to that terrible, haunting fear! She heard the 
stir in the room below, and watched her half hour breath- 
lessly. Then she crept out on the stairway, for she could 
fio longer endure the torturing suspense in that apartment 
where his last good night seemed yet sounding. Once she 
stole down to the office door, but she could distinguish 
nothing in the confused hum of voices. 

Within, medical skill was doing its utmost to recall the 
injured man to consciousness, if only for a few moments. 
Lying in the wet and cold had thoroughly chilled him ; yet 
they did not quite despair, although their hearts were heavy. 
At length a sigh of returning animation rewarded them. 
Dr. Bertrand opened his eyes, gazed around in an uncertain 
manner, and then closed them. Richard threw himself be- 
side the couch, and seizing his father’s hand, pressed it to 
his trembling lips. As if the action recalled the feeble mind 
to a sense of life, he murmured faintly, — 

“ To the right — I told them so, but it was dark, and 1 
couldn’t see. Where am I ? ” and rested his wandering 
glance on his son. 

Dr. D advanced, and taking his other hand, said, 

“ You are at home. Dr. Bertrand. You were thrown from 
your carriage, and picked up insensible. Can you remember 
any of the circumstances ? ” 

The question had the desired effect. A shade of thought 
passed over the pallid countenance, and with some difficulty 
he returned, “ I think it was a drunken party. I tried to 
keep out of their way, but I suppose they ran into me. Am 
I seriously injured ? ” He tried to raise himself, but fell 
back with a gasp. 

There was a solemn stillness. Richard’s breath came 


16 


IN TI^UST, OK 


freighted with agony. Dr. D surveyed his friend a 

moment, then said, in a low, distinct tone, — 

“ There may be a little hope, but we fear the worst.” 

The first expression of Dr. Bertrand’s face was one of 
intense pain, as if the summons had come too soon. Pres- 
ently it vanished, and in its place came resignation, a calm, 
holy peace, comforting the beholders. Sudden as the call 
was, in this last dread hour he knew in whom he had trusted, 
who had said, “ My strength is sufficient for thee.” For 
some moments the ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece 
was the only sound ; then, opening his eyes, he asked, faintly, 
“ How long ? ” 

Dr. D felt his pulse, and answered, “ Two hours, 

perhaps.” 

“ Let me see them all, Bichard, for the last <time.” 

Richard went to summon the children. At the fool 
of the stairs Mabel sprang into his arms. He tried to 
kiss some courage into the pale, despairing face ; but the 
tears that fell on her cheek told that the worst had indeed 
come. 

“ He has asked to see you all ; ” and Richard half carried, 
half led her up stairs. She could frame no questions ; her 
very breath seemed strangling her. They hurriedly awoke 
Lilian and Archie from childhood’s peaceful slumber, too 
much stunned by the announcement even for tears. Then 
Richard lingered a moment by Tessy’s crib. Fast asleep 
lay the little darling, her golden curls making a dividing line 
between her fair face and the pillow ; the red lips slightly 
parted, displaying the pearly teeth, and a flush of ripe crim- 
son on her soft cheek. He caught up a shawl lying near by, 
and took her in his arms, scarcely disturbing her ; only the 
small mouth started into . a smile as she murmured that 
dearest of all words to her — “ Papa.” But the grief of the 
others soon startled her, for when they entered the apart- 
ment of death, her lovely eyes were wide open with a child’* 


13R. BERTRAND'S HODSEHODD. 


17 


bewilderment ; and following out her first impulse, she 
stretched forth hcr arms to embrace her father, then looked 
terrified at the still, pale face. 

It was evident he was sinking rapidly. This new grief of 
parting, eager, frantic kisses from his children’s lips, and 
sobs of anguish, made his face more ashen than before. 
Mute caresses were all he could give ; the blessing he essayed 
to speak died away unuttered. But when Tessy’s quick, 
sharp cry of terror ran through the room, as she began to 

understand the sad truth, it unnerved them all. Dr. D , 

stooping over Mabel, hurriedly whispered, “ You had bet- 
ter remove them ; there may be some business ” 

His ear caught the sound. “ Business,” he murmured 
faintly ; “ yes, I wanted to live a little longer for their sakes ; 
but you’ll be kind to them, Bichard — love them as I have 
loved you. Don’t let them miss me too much. Poor things ! 
— no father, no mother; you won’t desert them, Bichard?” 
and he glanced up imploringly. 

Bichard Bertrand knelt beside his father, and clasping the 
cold hands, said slowly, “ Grod helping me, I will be a faith- 
ful brother, and love them with my whole heart.” 

“ Give Bobert my kiss and blessing. I cannot see him 
now. I shall meet her, Bichard, your mother ; and I will 
tell her what the little child she loved has been to me. God 
bless you again, and again. Don’t leave me,” and he sank 
back exhausted. 

The physician held a restorative to his lips, while Mabel 
led away the weeping children. When he did rally again, it 
was only to murmur incoherently, and gaze about with dull, 
bewildered glances. They noted the minutes as they were 
told aff, and the hue of death that was gradually settling on 
the noble face before them. Once he roused a little, and 
whispered with difficulty, — • 

“I meant to tell you — about the house. Don’t blame 
him, Bichard : he was sadly unfortunate. I couldn’t refuse 
2 % 


IN TRUST, OR 


|3 

him — bo had your mother’s eyes; but I wronged the chil 
dren. I meant to make it all good ; yet God knew best. 
You’ll be a friend to them. Some time it will come back — 
a Benjamin’s portion for you. Bead something, Bichard 
— the prayer. I think I am dying.” 

Bichard opened the little prayer book that was his constant 
companion, and in a choking voice read the commendatory 
prayer. A look of peace overspread his father’s face, com- 
forting him in this bitter hour. The white lips murmured 
part of the prayer ; then followed a long silence. Afterwards 
he bent over to catch the last words — “the children — 
Richard, I love you — my first-born.” The breath came 
fainter, then gaspingly. Bichard hid his face on the broad 
shoulder, until the last agony was over. 

Mabel had gone back to the sitting-room, and was trying 
to comfort the younger ones, though she could give them 
little besides tears. She listened with painfully acute senses, 
and when the hall door shut, and two persons walked away, 
a thrill of terror sped through every vein. Then she heard 
voices in earnest consultation, and Mrs. Hall came up to her 
father’s room. Afterwards Bichard entered, and clasped his 
arms around the little group clinging so closely together, 
mingling his tears with theirs. 

“ You had better all retire,” he said, when he could trust 
his voice. “We shall need some strength for to-morrow. 
Henceforth I must try to fill his place to you ; only, it can 
never be he ; but I will do my best.” 

“ 0, Bichard ! Bichard ! ” What a bitter cry it was ! 
He kissed them tenderly, — little wet faces and quivering 
lips, — and carried Tessy back to her crib. Lily crept in with 
her, and Archie, wrapping himself in a blanket, lay down on 
the lounge. There was no sleep for Mabel ; she went quiet- 
y about, taking care of books and playthings that had been 
neglected a few hours before, when all were so happy. On^y 
four years had elapsed since her mother’s death ; but she was 


DK. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


19 


younger then, and had not felt the sorrow so keenly: per- 
haps, too, she had clung more closely to her father since that 
time, and now understood the full force of the blow. Nevei 
again to hear him speak, never to look in his genial, loving 
eyes, or be kissed by the fond lips ! Never to waylay him in 
the hall, and ask little favors, or spring for the first embrace 
as he entered the house. Never again ! ah, there was the 
sting. 


20 


IN TRUST ; OB 


CHAPTEE III. 

Through the long, weary day, 

I walk overshadowed by vain dreams of him. 

Mrs. Hemahb. 

Even by means of our sorrows we belong to the Eternal Plan. 

Humboldt. 

Daylight came at last. Mabel had not slept at all, and 
as soon as she heard Mrs. Hall astir, stole down to the 
library, where she found Eichard. The children had cried 
themselves into heavy slumbers ; so it was late when they 
made their appearance at breakfast. The meal had scarcely 
ended before the undertaker came, and they all went to take 
a view of the dear face. How sweet and calm that last ex- 
pression was ! They gazed wonderingly, and without tears, 
it was so like a peaceful sleep. 

“ I must telegraph for Eobert immediately,” Eichard said, 
when they were again in the hall ; “ and, Mabel, you had 
better get all that you and the children will need. Let 
nothing be put off until the last day.” 

“ And that will be — ” 

“ Saturday afternoon, I think. I will order the carriage 
for you. Perhaps you had better take Mrs. Hall.” 

She came up at Eichard’s request ; but Mabel decided to 
go alone ; a sudden sense of responsibility had come upon 
her, and she took it up with patient, sorrowful gravity. 

“ It’s a sore, sore trial,” the housekeeper said. “ No one 
but God can comfort you ; ” and then she turned away with 
tearful eyes. Words seemed so useless! 

It was a harder task than Mabel had imagined. How 
pitiful the fair little faces looked in their black bonnets ' 


DB. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


21 


So it is — we never become accustomed to death, but ever^ 
time it seems new in its sombre belongings. The dress- 
maker took her orders with a quiet air, that was really 
sympathizing ; but Mabel was glad to return to the silent 
house, and be again under the roof that covered her great 
grief. Richard had been very busy, and did not return until 
dinner. 

The storm of the preceding night had ceased, yet the day 
had been cold and cloudy, just relieved, late in the afternoon, 
by a little sunshine. They clustered in the familiar sitting- 
room, where Richard tried to talk away the first strangeness 
of their grief ; not by bringing up other subjects, but speak- 
ing of the dead father, who lay below, as one whose new life 
had already commenced in Paradise ; who was looking down 
on them with the same loving heart and fond eyes that had 
been their comfort here. He had entered into the blissful 
rest of the redeemed, and now they were to strive to meet 
him at the last day. The low, gentle voice charmed away 
their grief ; the sobs came at longer intervals as the twilight 
closed in around them. Tessy had crept up into Richard’s 
lap, and the three elder ones were clasped in each other’s 
arms. 

“ I hoped Robert would be at home before this. I ought 
to go out a little while,” Richard said. 

“ Don’t ; ” and Tessy, reaching up, clasped her arms 
around his neck. “ Please don’t ; we bave no papa but 
you, now.” 

He kissed her, and thought a moment, saying, “ I will 
make a note answer. Light the gas, Mabel, and bring mo 
your writing desk.” 

Turning the burner towards him, she lingered a moment 
with the desk in her hand, and then said, gently, “ Get 
down, Tessy.” 

The child moved slowly, her large eyes filling with tears ; 
but Richard changed her to one knee, and took tlie desk 
upon the other. “ I think we can manage it,” was his hopeful 


22 


IN TRUST, OK 


reply ; “ I only want to write a few words.” So Tessj 
kept her seat, as she would have done on her father’s lap. 

The note was not very brief, after all ; but when he had 
sealed and directed it to Miss Ada Townley, and asked 
Mabel to send it immediately by Martin, he clasped his little 
sister to his heart again, and rocked slowly backwards and 
forwards, thinking of the life that lay before him. And it 
was something to think of. He was within a fortnight of his 
wedding day. He had given his father a most solemn assur- 
ance that he would love and care for these orphaned ones. 
Would not something need to be relinquished? His trip 
abroad, perhaps ; and the bridal must be delayed. But 
when he described that death scene to Ada, he knew 
she would feel as he did — that his duty lay here, for the 
present. She would not refuoe to come and share it with 
him, perhaps ; and in spite of his grief, a proud smile grew 
up in his face. Was it possible to doubt her ? No, indeed. 
Disappointed she could not fail to be, for the trip to Europe 
had been one of her promised joys ; but for his sake she 
would be content. 

A quick ring at the door startled them all, and an instant 
later Bobert was in their midst. Many tears were mingled 
with their kisses, and the silence spoke of tender grief more 
eloquently than words. 

“ Come here, Tessy,” Robert said, as he sat down. 

She clung timidly to the elder brother, with a child’s naive 
preference, and climbing into his lap again, said slowly, 
“ Richard’s papa now.” 

Robert Bertrand was past eighteen, tall, well developed, 
and unmistakably handsome. His eyes were nearly black, 
proud, sparkling, and defiant; very unlike Richard’s, which 
were a soft, liquid brown. His forehead was high and 
fair, less broad than his brother’s, and clustered about 
with rings of shining hair. His chin was girlishly round, 
and dimpled ; his lips beautifully curved, red, and somewhat 
full. When he set them firmly together, they shadowed out 


DK. BERTKAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


23 


an unpleasant meaning, that, as years passed on, might be 
both selfish and cruel ; now it was ease-loving and indiffer- 
ent. His face was full of restless force — the index to a 
nature hard to govern, and extremely self-indulgent. There 
was a great contrast between the two. Richard’s face was 
essentially good, not wanting in harmony and nobleness. It 
was trusty, where Robert’s was proud ; tender and affec- 
tionate, yet with none of that indecision often mistaken for 
good nature. There was a fibre of almost womanly love for 
all who were weak and suffering running through his heart ; 
lie could be patient to the last degree, and self-denying, but 
every thought was marked by conscious rectitude. Once 
committed to a cause he knew to be right, there was no 
swerving with him. 

As a family they had lived in perfect harmony, uncon- 
scious of any discordant elements. Mrs. Bertrand had loved 
Richard sincerely ; and though the doctor’s sense of justice 
had been too correct to admit of favoritism, Richard’s 
seniority had made him companionable, while the others 
were too young. Robert had occasionally chafed a little, 
but always yielded ; now, however, he seemed to take his 
place at once as an equal. He listened, with evident 
emotion, to the sad story ; but his questions and comments 
jarred a little on Mabel’s bruised heart. She could not 
recur to the sad event without tearful eyes, and frequently 
Richard’s voice seemed tremulous with sobs ; yet she checked 
herself by the thought, “ He was not here ; he did not 
see it all.” And when they kissed Richard “good night,” 
she clung to him with something of the feeling of depen- 
dence she had hitherto held for her father alone. 

The next day was quite eventful. The children’s aunt 
came, and there were various consultations, that broke in 
upon the sacred solitude of grief. Aunt Sophia was too 
deeply touched not to refrain from adding to their tears; so 
she reserved her questions for Mrs. Hall. Indeed, it seemed 
as if the business of life mu^t be gone through with, even if 
hearts did break. 


24 


IN TRUST, OR 


Late in the afternoon Richard went to call on his be- 
trothed. The meeting could not be otherwise than sorrow- 
ful. The sudden shock, coming at an important period of 
their lives, rendered them both grave. It brought their 
whole existence more plainly before them ; led them to see 
the thorns in every path, the wounds that must bleed, despite 
the love that so eagerly sought to bind up the bruised heart ; 
taught them anew on what frail tenure all human hopes were 
held. Nearly an hour passed in comforting assurances on 
Ada’s part, before he gained courage to say, — 

“ Dearest, our marriage will have to be delayed. There 
must be some new plans for the future, and weeks may elapse 
before we can make definite arrangements.” 

“ I know,” she answered, soothingly. “ I will wait pa- 
tiently and willingly until fall, and in the mean while, if I can 
be of any assistance to you or yours, command me to the 
utmost. It is surely not too much for me to say that your 
sorrow and joy are alike mine.” 

“ Thank you.” The pressure of the hand said still more 
— that no trouble or grief could long cloud their way with 
this perfect faith between them. 

The funeral had been appointed for two o’clock on Satur- 
day. Quite early Dr. Bertrand was placed in his coffin, 
dressed so naturally that it seemed impossible to think of 
him otherwise than as asleep. There was a slight discolora- 
tion on one temple, but the face was fair and placid — a face 
to linger over in the tenderest passion of grief. The chil- 
dren gathered in the large parlor, to which the body had 
been removed, and watched for the last time. The violence 
of grief had spent itself ; tears were not needed in this 
saintly presence. Looking on him there, it seemed as if he 
must awake at length, and clasp them to his heart again — 
the children he loved so well. Richard passed quietly in 
and out until the friends began to assemble, when he and 
Robert took their places beside the others. How vividly 
every word and look of that last evening came before him I 


DK. bertkand’s household. 25 

How comforting the assurance he had received ! how sacred 
the promise he had given a few hours later ! 

It was Tessj’s hand that took the fragrant wreath from 
the coffin, and laid it inside, on her father’s breast. The 
last kisses and last tears were given, and they w(ie led 
out of the apartment. The rest was like a painful d:eam : 
ttie ride to the church, and from thence to the graveyard ; 
the solemn burial service, the lowered coffin, and the last sad 
rite — -“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking 
for the general resurrection at the last day.” Thank God 
for that hope, amid so much darkness. 

An hour later the family assembled in the doctor’s office, 
and listened to the reading of the will. Lawyer Guilford, 
an old and tried friend, performed this duty with grave 
kindliness. After a few preliminaries, it gave to Richard all 
medical books and instruments, while the house, and all other 
such property as the doctor might die possessed of, was to 
be equally divided among the five younger children when 
Tessy reached her majority. If deemed advisable, the house 
could be sold at any time, and the money placed at interest, 
the income devoted to the maintenance and education of the 
children. After this followed a special remembrance to 
every one, a small gift to each of the three servants, and the 
appointment of Richard and Mr. Guilford as executors and 
guardians. 

The house was large, with a hall through the centre ; 
on one side, a parlor ; opposite, two rooms ; the front one 
an office, the other a sort of study, library, and general de- 
partment. Opening the door of this, the lawyer beckoned 
hither the elder sons, and unlocking a desk, remarked 
quietly, “You will find all necessary papers here ; but I 
wish to say a word before I leave you. Were you aware the 
house was mortgaged ? ” 

“No ! ” exclaimed the brothers, in a breath of astonishment. 

“ I have some explanations to make, then. A short time 
ago, when your father was setting apart you? fortune,” — he 
3 


26 


IN TRUST, OR 


beared to Richard, — “he thought it better to make a ne^ 
will, as the other had been drawn up prior to Mrs. Bertrand’s 
death. He told me then, that, several years before, he had 
indorsed for a dear friend, who proved sadly unfortunate ; 
and having at that period no ready money, he had mortgaged 
his house for five thousand dollars. He had paid one thou- 
sand since, and intended, as soon as possible, to clear it en- 
tirely. This plan has been frustrated ; but I think, after all 
claims are settled, you may have enough perhaps to liquidate 
this debt, if you choose to do it. Any suggestion I can 
offer will be freely given.” 

“ Thank you,” Richard said, mechanically, while Robert 
asked, in a more eager tone, if he knew who the friend 
was. 

“ I do not. Allow me a few more words. It may sur- 
prise some that Dr. Bertrand died possessed of no greater 
wealth ; but he has left an honorable name, and was a most 
benevolent man. A family like this, with no mother’s econ- 
omy, must necessarily be expensive. Doubtless you can 
make important retrenchments. Take plenty of time for the 
matter, and believe that I shall always have my friend’s in- 
terest at heart. I think you will find your own business all 
correct, Mr. Richard ; your father took great pains with it. 
And now good day, as I suppose you will do nothing further 
at present.” 

The brothers bowed. As the door closed, Robert threw 
himself on the sofa with an expression of extreme dissatis- 
faction. “ To think how it has ended ! ” he began, with a 
scornful curl of the lip. “ I supposed father was worth 
twenty thousand, at least. What is to be done?” 

“ He made no such pretension,” Richard said, gravely. 
“We will wait a while before deciding.” 

“ It’s very well for you to talk, Dick. You have had a 
splendid education out of father, and now can fall back upon 
your own fortune ; while this is my first year at Yale, and 
likely to be my last, for anything I can see.” 


DK. BERTKAND’s household. 


27 


“Let us leave the subject now,” was Kichard’s response. 

“You may go, if you like ; but I don’t stir until I have 
examined some of these papers. Whom do you suppose 
father could have indorsed for ? ” 

“ We will talk of it when I return ; ” and Richard went ti 
attend to the remaining friends. Having disposed of thom^ 
he ran up stairs, and found the resignation of the afternoon 
had given way to wildest grief. Even aunt Sophy could do 
nothing but weep. Mabel’s firmness had failed entirely. 
His comforting voice seemed to restore them ; but th sobs 
had scarcely ceased when the tea bell rang. Mabel lingered 
to bathe her face and smooth her hair. Coming back to the 
slielter of his arms, she said, brokenly, — 

“ Richard, aunt Sophy and I have been talking of what 
must come presently : do you think we shall be separated, 
even if you should — ” and her voice broke down com- 
pletely. 

He had to make an effort to regain his. “ No ; ” and he 
was glad he could say it ; “ there will be no parting at 
present, and I shall not be married until fall.” 

Her answer was a convulsive kiss. 

After supper he followed Robert to the library, who began 
in a triumphant tone, ere they were seated, “Well, I have 
solved the mystery ! ” 

“ Who was it ? Some one father must have loved dearly ; ” 
and Richard, bethinking himself of the words spoken that 
fatal night, — “I couldn’t refuse him ; he had your mother’s 
eyes,” — anticipated Robert’s reply of, “ Your uncle, Richard 
Aubrey.” 

“ I found it in father’s journal,” he continued, opening 
the book. “ It was before mother died. Of course he 
didn’t suppose he would lose it; but then came the fire, 
when uncle Dick was burned out, his removal to Central 
America, and his sickness and death there. Still, I do not 
think it was father’s place to pay it.” 

“ It was any honorable man’s duty,” Richard answered, 


28 


IN TRUST ; OR 


warmly. “ I am sorry he indorsed ; that being done, how- 
ever, there was only one course.” 

Robert moved uneasily in his chair. “Certainly, the law 
could compel him to pay it. I didn’t exactly mean that 
The thing is just here, Dick : if it had been my mother’s 
brother I would not say a word ; but we children are five 
thousand dollars poorer for the speculation, while it doesn’t 
touch you in the slightest. My share of it vrould take me 
through college.” 

A deep crimson suffused Richard’s face, as he replied, 
hastily, “ I understand you, and will see to all college 
expenses.” 

“ I will not wrong the others,” Robert said, with an as- 
sumption of justice. “ If the matter looks right to you, it 
may go.” 

“ None of you shall suffer through my uncle,” Richard 
exclaimed, with a little pride. 

“ You see, Dick,” Robert began, as if half ashamed of his 
suggestion, “ if we were all grown up, it would be different; 
but you have had more than any of us in your education, 
and — ” 

“ I promised father, just before he died, that I would do 
all I could toward filling his place. No one shall want for 
anything while I live. I think you can trust me.” 

The solemn, yet tender voice sobered Robert a little. 
“ You loere going to be married, Dick,” he said. 

“ It will not be until fall, and I have given up my trip to 
Europe.” No one knew how hard it was for him to say that. 
“ When you come home for vacation I shall have decidtjd on 
what it is best to do ; till then, all things will go on as 
before.” 

“ There’s some railroad stock, and a little money in 
the bank. What do you suppose the house would brinor, 
Richard?” 

“ I hope there will be no necessity of selling it until I can 
be come the purchasei,” was the quiet answer. “Since you 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


29 


have begun, we may as well go over the papers together;” 
and he drew his chair towards the desk. 

Everything was in tolerable order — letters laid by them- 
selves ; bills and business accounts rightly arranged, and 
the ledger written up to the last day of the doctor’s life. 
Then there was a journal-like volume, containing simple 
entries of the day’s events, that told more than many 
lengthy paragraphs. He was too healthy-spirited a man to 
go into any morbid analysis of thought ; yet it contained 
many touching glimpses of home life. It was here Robert 
had found the particulars of the mortgage, and this was the 
only account of his unfortunate indo7*sing. Richard prom- 
ised himself a sad, sweet pleasure in reading it at some 
future time. The clock struck ten, and a light tap at the 
door interrupted them. 

“Let us put these away for to-night,” Richard said, open 
ing the door to Tessy. 

“ I came to kiss you. We were all going to bed,” wat 
the half-timid exclamation. 

He took the child in his arms, and as she buried her face 
in his soft beard, she murmured, “ 0 Hick, I love you 
dearly ! dearly ! Ho you think God will ever make you 
die ? ” 

For answer he held her tightly, and kissed lip, cheek, and 
golden hair ; then carried her up stairs, where he said good 
night to the rest. They all looked up to him now as tha 
head of the family. 

3 * 


so 


IN TRUST, oa 


CHAPTER lY. 

The lines of our life may be smooth and strong, 

And our pleasant path may lie 
Where the stream of affection flows along, 

In the light of a summer sky; 

But woe for the lights that early wane, 

And the shades that early fall. 

And the prayer that speaks of the secret pain. 

Though its voice be still and small. 

Frances Brown. 

The head of the family ! This was what Richard Bertrand 
thought, as he sat in his room, weary, and yet wakeful. 
What a change a week had wrought ! Then he had been 
musing over such visions as young men are wont to dream 
of ; a girlish wife and baby faces growing up in his house- 
hold, whose helpless, clinging touches give to parents wisdom 
and patience. Instead, ties not his very own sprang up to 
fetter him with a double chain of love and duty. It was not 
such a care-free path as those rambles over the old world, 
with his chosen wife beside him. What wonder if he 
glanced at that lost way with sorrowful tenderness ? Already 
cares and sacrifices began to stare him in the face. Could 
he make his position harmonize with his affection ? Tie lit- 
tle scene with Robert told him he had not a parent’s author- 
ity, and that his rule must be one of love. A fine sense of 
honor ran like a silver chord through his nature, and he felt 
it would be right for him to pay off this mortgage with his 
own fortune, no matter how overstrained the action might 
appear to others. His father had behaved with scrupulous 
generosity and delicacy in never mentioning the fact of his 
having indorsed for Richard’s uncle, and it touched him tc 


DR. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


31 


the heart. Yes, he would clear the house from debt, and 
then — some provision must be made for the family. His 
father’s practice was extensive ; he would doubtless succeed 
to a large share of it. If he could keep them all together 
for a few years ! And then thoughts of Ada arose. Would 
she be happy here r 

I think it was well Sunday came in the midst of their grief. 
It sanctified it, and added a tender solemnity to the memory 
of the dead, and gave Richard his true position at once — the 
place he was to fill through years of mingled joy and sorrow. 
He took his father’s seat in the church with a feeling of grave 
awe, and those who looked upon his manly figure and truth- 
ful face, prophesied it would be worthily filled. 

He hesitated a little whether he should go to Ada that 
night, then decided to remain at home. They could not 
«ing, as was their usual custom ; but Richard read to them : 
afterwards they fell into a sweet, sorrowful talk of him who 
had gone from their midst, and was keeping the eternal rest 
that remained for the people of Grod. 

“ ‘ A day which shall be known unto the Lord, not day, nor 
night ; but it shall come to pass that at evening time it shall 
be light,’ ” Mabel said, with her lingering good-night kiss. 

“ At evening time,” Richard repeated. He did not dream 
then how often he should have need to comfort himself with 
the words. 

Monday morning brought the stir of busy life. Robert 
was called into conference with his brother, and all immedi- 
ate plans laid before him. There was a sad parting with the 
girls, and Richard drove him to the depot, offering a few 
brotherly suggestions that were received with an attentive 
air. But a feeling of intense relief came in his face when he 
found himself alone ; and he said, almost audibly, — 

“ Dick is a good fellow, and I must be careful. Wasn’t I 
lucky to make my peace with the learned and reverend fac- 
ulty ? Suspension just now would have been — well, it 
didn’t come, thanks to fortune ; so there’s no use of borrow- 
ing trouble.” 


^2 


IN TRUST, OR 


Then followed aunt Sophia’s departure. It was natural 
she should feel anxious for the children’s welfare, as their 
mother had been her only sister ; and she offered to take the 
two younger ones, in case they decided to break up the 
household. 

“ You are to be married soon, I believe ? ’’ she said to 
Richard. 

“ Not until fall, and I may remain here then. It is 
my wish to keep the family together. I think father de- 
sired it.” 

She could not object to this ; but as Mrs. Hall helped her 
put on her wrappings, the subject was re-discussed. 

“I’m afraid it will not work,” she said, slowly. “Mabel 
is growing up, and may want to be mistress in her own house, 
and Miss Townley won’t feel disposed to accept of the second 
position. Then, he is only their half-brother, and we can- 
not expect him to give up all to them. Poor things, they 
will never find another friend like their father ! ” 

Mrs. Hall sighed and hoped it would end rightly, but was 
a little doubtful of two families living in perfect peace, when 
both would have such a strong claim on “ Mr. Richard.” 

The next event in order was the mortgage. Mr. (ruilford 
was a little surprised at Richard’s proposal, but simply said, 
“ I hope you have considered the matter well ; ” and then 
went about the business in his ordinary manner. Some days 
elapsed before it could be finally settled j but when Richard 
had freed the house from its encumbrance, and placed a 
thousand dollars in the lawyer’s hands to Robert’s credit, a 
great weight seemed to have fallen from him. Now the 
question of retrenchment must be seriously considered. 

This was a difficult subject for a young man The house 
was large, to be sure, yet it was all needed ; and it was not 
possible to do with less than the three servants : Mrs. Hall, 
a sensible, middle-aged woman, who had filled the post of 
housekeeper since Mrs. Bertrand’s death, and was a most 
excellent manager; Ann, the maid of all work, a good- 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


33 


oatured Irish woman, whose tastes were certainly promiscuous 
as regarded emploj,^ment. As a girl she had served appren- 
ticeship to Mrs. Bertrand, married, and after a brief essay at 
housekeeping, had come back during the illness of her mis- 
tress. Her husband having been taken as coachman and 
gardener, Martin and Ann Burns might well be considered 
fixtu 'es. Martin was especially valuable, if he did grumble a 
little nowand then, for he was sober, honest, and industrious. 
None of the servants could be dispensed with while the family 
remained here. 

And to go away ! It sent a quick pang to Bichard’s heart. 
Dr. Bertrand had come here after his second marriage, and 
this was the scene of Bichard’s boyish years, as well as his 
thoughtful, happy manhood. He could remember every im- 
provement, and how he had sometimes assisted in planning. 
The house was situated at the northern end of the city, in a 
quiet, shady street, whose sidewalk was bordered with patri- 
«archal elms. The grounds, though small, were tastefully laid 
out, a handsome court-yard in front, with miniature lawns, 
whose dark green Norway pines made a pleasant gloom. 
The house was double, the pointing roofs over the dormer 
windows relieving its squareness. To the right, partially 
hidden by trees, stood the carriage-house and barn. The 
rear commanded a lovely prospect. It lay on the banks of the 
Passaic, the slope terraced by a series of steps, the upper 
ones being devoted to flowers, and the lower to fruit and 
vegetables ; ending by a thick stone wall at the water’s edge. 
Here was the boat-house, whose building Bichard had super- 
intended, and he could almost feel the thrill of delight with 
which he had welcomed the dainty “Jessie,” his boat. Here 
were fruit trees he had trained, rose-cuttings bestowed by 
friends, and a host of flowers he had taken delight in culti- 
vating. Then the rooms! there was not a nook or corner 
but held some pleasant memory for him ; all had been hal- 
lowed by the presence of that dear father. No, he could 
never willingly go away. 


S4 


IN TRUST, OR 


He summoned Mrs. Hall, and they took a review of the 
housekeeping department. He found his father had sup- 
plied every thing with a most lavish hand, and that Mrs. Hall 
thought an important reform might be commenced here. She 
lingered after they had arranged their plans, her face so 
plainly showing something left unsaid, that he asked, with a 
pleasant smile, — 

“ Are there any more suggestions ? I am a new hand at 
the business, you know, and will take the least hint kindly.” 

The little woman’s face flushed, and she said, quite hum- 
bly,— 

“ I should like to speak of one thing, if you wouldn’t be 
offended, sir. It’s not my place ; but I’ve seen more of. life 
than you, — women’s lives, I mean, — their likes and wants, 
and sometimes little jealous feelings that make a household 
miserable. People who love dearly do not always know just 
how to make each other happy. If it isn’t too bold a ques- 
tion, — wasn’t you thinking of being married, and bringin|^ 
your wife here ? ” 

“ I did think about it ; in the fall, perhaps ; ” and Richard’s 
color rose a trifle. 

“ What I wanted to say, Dr. Richard, was this. Miss 
Townley, being the youngest of her family, and having such 
a fortune, never has had anything to try her patience, or 
any feelings or wishes beside her own to consult. I dare 
say she loves you very much, and looks forward to a happy 
life with you, thinking, like most young creatures, that the 
highest joy is having you all her own. And here are the 
children, very fond of you, and used to having their father all 
to themselves, for he was always thinking what he could do 
for them, and was so indulgent, so patient, with their little 
tempers and rare disputes. Now they all cling to you ; in- 
deed, you are filling their father’s place ; but when a new 
claimant for your love comes ” 

“ You are afraid there might be some trouble,” he said, 
in the calm tone of a man who felt certain of perfect accord. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


35 


It’s right and natural for a wife who loves her husband 
beyond all else, to wish to be first with him — to want all hia 
leisure hours. No one could blame her for it. But the 
children would have to be put off, and might feel neg- 
lected. A restraint would come hard at first ; they’re so 
affectionate, and were used to so much freedom with their 
father. It’s trying to a man, when he loves both parties ; 
and it’s difficult for both parties to agree, when they look at 
the same thing in a different light. You’d be the shield, 
with one side gold, and the other side silver.” 

“Well,” said Richard, cheerfully, “how shall I keep the 
peace ? ” 

“ I can’t answer that, sir. But if you tried the plan and 
found it did not prove agreeable, I was thinking how much 
pleasanter than sending them among strangers it would be 
to hire a cheap little cottage, and let me take charge of them. 
I could do all the work, and make them happy, I think, and 
you could watch over them. When I remember how much 1 
owe your dear father, I feel as if I ought to spend my very 
life for his children’s happiness. He came to me when my 
husband lay dying, and my poor baby too ill to go out of my 
arms, while I was almost wild with poverty and anxiety. 
0, I can never forget his goodness, and how he comforted 
me after they were gone, when I cam^e near dying with lone- 
liness and grief myself. I feel as if I daren’t meet him in 
heaven, unless I do all I can for his ; ” and Mrs. Hall broke 
down in a sobbing fit. 

Richard was moved to the heart. He took her hand 
kindly, and said, in a voice of emotion, — 

“ How much I thank you for this generous offer, I cannot 
put in words. I honor you, too, for so practical a plan ; and 
if the time should ever come when such a division seems 
necessary, I shall gladly avail myself of your suggestions. 
Believe me, I am eager to do my whole duty by them ; they 
were my father’s last charge.” 

“ I hope you’ll pardon me if I’ve been over-bold, but 1 


S6 


IN TRUST, OR 


couldo^t bear to think of their being separated while they’re 
so young. Miss Mabel will grow up a sort of mother to the 
rest, and I know we can make a pleasant home. They have 
so few relatives that they’ll always cling together. Tlieir 
aunt Sophia would do anything in the world for them, but 
she has such a large family.” 

“ If my plan will not work, we must try yours,” he said, 
kindly. 

After Mrs. Hall had left him, he dropped his forehead on 
his hand, and fell into a reverie. How many difficulties rose 
in his path ! More than once some slight incident had made 
him feel his actions would be more severely criticised because 
he was a half brother to the rest. The suspicions that had 
been scarcely suggested, wounded his keenly sensitive soul. 
He understood how this home, delightful as it was, might 
not be so happy for Ada. He would be compelled to divide 
his attentions. There were lessons, little troubles, and much 
demonstrative love, that he could only check by positive cold- 
ness. How could he teach Tessy the first kiss did not be- 
long to her ? Would he wish to estrange them ? 

No, indeed ; he loved them too well ; and he resolved, 
come what would, to keep, in the truest manner possible, his 
promise to his dead father. If Mrs. Hall hardly dared meet 
him in heaven, with an unperformed kindness between them, 
how much more he, a well-beloved son, in whom his father 
reposed the highest confidence ! . 

Yet it would take the most entire devotion to repay Ada 
for her disappointment in not going abroad. It was her 
right to have some voice in a matter that so deeply concerned 
herself. Suppose she should not wish to come and share 
her husband’s time and love with so many. She was rather 
exacting. He had hitherto liked the jealous regard that 
could not spare a word nor caress. But how would it an- 
swer when they all came to live together ? 

A rush of children through the hall dispersed his troubled 
Ihoughts, and he rose to meet them. Fresh from school. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


37 


mth rosy faces, and somewhat boisterous greetings — Archie 
begging for a little help in his Latin, Lily petitioning for a 
ride on Saturday ; and Tessy, clasping his arm with both 
eager hands, hopped beside him, intent on studying locomo- 
tion on one foot. 

Mabel’s voice sounded from the hall above, — 

“ Come, children, the dinner bell will ring in five minutes, 
and you are not ready.” 

Lily went up the steps two at a time, and Archie made 
nr)isy attempts at imitating her. Richard swung Tessy with 
a sudden force, landing her three steps up. She gave a gay 
little laugh, and said, in a delighted tone, — 

“ 0 Dick ! you’re as strong as papa ; he used to do 
that I ” 


88 


TN TRUST. OK 


CHAPTER y. 

All as God wills, who wisely heeds 
To give or to withhold, 

And knoweth more of all my needs 
Than all my prayers have told. 

Whittier. 

Two months had elapsed since Dr. Bertrand’s death.. 
Changeful childhood rallied and grasped eagerly at th« 
pleasures of life, in order to fill up the chasm of loss. Merry 
laughs once more woke echoes through the quiet house, and 
occasionally Lilian broke into a bird-like song. Richard had 
been very busy. His father’s patients had poured in upon 
him in numbers that could not fail to be gratifying ; yet it 
rendered the prospect of a long absence unfortunate for his 
position as a doctor, if not absolutely impossible. The new 
cares and responsibilities had somewhat broken in upon his 
devotedness as a lover, though his betrothed had consoled 
herself with a visit to New York for gayeties she could not 
well ask Richard to share at home. She had been kind and 
sympathizing, and borne her share of the grief tranquilly. 
Still he was anxious for a more thorough understanding of 
their future. 

One lovely May evening they went out for a walk. He 
had a purpose in th^s, for he wanted to be beyond the chance 
of interruption. The night air was fragrant with the breath 
of young trees, and the varied odors of spring. The soft 
blue sky, with its tender stars, seemed to have a peculiar 
nearness to human hearts and human wants. The tremulous 
air brought vague memories of lost joys, dreams unrealized 
and forgotten, save in such hours. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


39 


“ How beautiful ! ” and Richard paused. They had turne d 
into High Street, and gaining a little eminence, the whole 
city lay at their very feet, softened in a flood of silver light, 
serene as if all in those homes were perfect peace. 

“ Yes,” Ada answered slowly ; “ but think, Richard, what 
such a night would be in Venice with the songs of gondoliers, 
or roaming through the palace gardens of the old world. I 
am longing for flelds of olive and flgs, and where purple grapes 
glisten in the long reaches of a still fairer light than this.” 

“It would disappoint you very, very much not to go?*' 
His voice had a touch of winning gentleness in it. 

“ 0, I must ! You know what I said about waiting ! By 
fall you will surely have all family arrangements completed.” 

“ Matters are very different from what I expected,” was 
his grave answer. 

“ Your father was not so rich as people supposed ? ” 

“It is not that alone. I promised my father in his dying 
moments that I would love the children as he had loved me — 
take care of them — befriend them.” 

“ Of course it is your duty to love them ; but surely there 
is enough to support them without any effort of yours. May 
I make a suggestion ? ” 

“ Certainly, dearest.” 

“ Could not the house be sold, and the money properly 
invested? Would it not make sufficient for the children’s 
support ? ” 

“ 0, I couldn’t give up the house. I should never find 
auothei spot in the world so dear ! I hope some day to be 
able to purchase it, for the girls will doubtless marry and 
seek other homes. I have half a plan, Ada, if you are 
willing.” 

“ Well.” Her tone was not at all encouraging. 

“ I do not think it will be possible for me to go abroad. 
I find there is not enough left to support the family without 
some exertion on my part. I am in a fair way of succeeding 
to much of my father’s practice. If you were willing to 


40 


IN TRUST, OR 


marry me, and share my lot for a while, I know I could make 
you happy. At least, we might try. Will you not come ? ” 

“ Richard,” Ada began slowly, “ I may perhaps offend you 
by what I shall say ; yet I think it my duty. I do not ap- 
prove of such arrangements. I do not feel capable, or even 
willing, to take charge of such a household, neither should I 
be satisfied with a secondary position. I will gladly share 
what I have with you in travelling, and afterwards in anj 
manner that seems best. Surely there would be no dif- 
ficulty in reestablishing yourself on our return. Besides, 
you have a tolerable fortune. I shouldn’t starve on it if 
mine were all gone ; ” and she laughed with assumed gayety. 

“ It is not so large as it was. I have had occasion to 
spend half of it.” His voice was quietly firm. The truth 
was best told now. Yet he felt there would be an outbreak, 
and summoned not only resolution, but tenderness. 

“ Five thousand ! What have you been doing, Richard ? ” 
she asked, sharply. 

“ My duty, only. After my father’s burial I found he had 
mortgaged the house to enable him to pay two notes he had 
indorsed for my uncle, my own mother’s brother.” 

“ He left you nothing, and expected you to pay that ! ” 
she said, indignantly. 

“ He did leave me a great deal,” Richard answered with a 
little wounded feeling. “ A handsome library, and a most 
complete as well as expensive set of instruments ; besides, he 
never spoke of my paying the debt. But in order to have 
you understand why I have taken these particular views of 
duty, I must tell you some of my past life. At my mother’s 
death, my uncle and aunt Aubrey took charge of me, keep- 
ing me until my father’s second marriage, and utterly refus- 
ing the slightest remuneration. My grandfather dividi. ds 
property equally between uncle Richard and myself. My 
father never touched one penny of either principal or inter- 
est; supplying all my wants himself. Uncle Richard was 
prosperous for a while ; but a disastrous fire, which swept 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


41 


away nearly all his earnings, was succeeded by a long illness. 
Afterwards he took his family to Central America, where he 
seemed to have a fair prospect of redeeming his losses.* In 
several of his letters that I have since found, he expressed 
the most earnest determination to repay my father at the 
earliest opportunity. He took a fever and died, and aunt 
and the children went to California. For two years we have 
heard nothing from them. In my father’s last moments he 
pleaded tenderly for uncle Kichard, although I did not un- 
derstand the full import until Robert discovered an acknowl- 
edgment of the indorsement. He suggested the only course 
I should have followed ; for it is true I have had more than 
the others.” 

“ I do not think it right or fair. Your father did not con- 
sult you in the matter of security, and you are not bound in 
the slightest.” 

“ Only by a sense of honor, and respect for myself.” 

“ It was unjust for Robert to speak of such a thing. They 
will never be as generous for you.” 

“ It was my relative, and not theirs — one who had loved 
me fondly. And if I can repay my father a little for his 
kindness to me, I ought to make some sacrifice. Besides, I 
have so much more than they will inherit.” 

“ If they were your own brothers and sisters, it would look 
more reasonable for you to spend your life for them.” Ada’s 
tone was bitter. 

“ I do not believe their mother ever said of me, ‘ If he 
had been my child, I should have felt it my duty to do more 
for him.’ I cannot imagine any one more devoted. I would 
do a great deal for the sake of the pleasant life I led with 
her ; indeed, we are as much brothers and sisters as if she 
had been mother to all.” 

“Yet I will protest against your spending your life and 
your fortune for them ! You belong to me, at least if I have 
not been crowded out of your heart.” 

Both her words and manner pained him ; yet he answered 
gently, “ I do not expect to devote my whole time to them 


42 


IN TKUST, OK 


only just now when they have lost so much ! Think, Ada, 
how many more years I had him — years of tender love and 
unwearied counsel. Grod made me a son and a brother be- 
fore I became a lover, and a little while at this period wil) 
surely not detract from my permanent happiness. You must 
know my love for you is beyond question.” 

“ A divided heart,” she returned, coldly. 

“ No, not divided. I love you no less, and the others no 
more, than I did three months ago ; but God has placed new 
duties in my way. I dare not neglect them.” 

“ You would rather relinquish me ? ” 

“ Ada ! ” The whole strength of his nature came out in his 
tone, as if there was a bound she might not pass. 

“ Forgive me, Richard. I love you dearly, and you try 
me beyond endurance. I acknowledge you have a sacred 
duty to perform towards your brothers and sisters. If you 
invest their property well, and send them to good boarding- 
schools, what more can any one ask ? ” 

“ Boarding-school ! ” he repeated in surprise. “ And 
Tessy nothing but a baby ! ” 

“ Sister Mary doesn’t consider Clara a baby. She is about 
Tessy’s age, I believe, and quite womanly.” 

“ I don’t know how they could endure separation and a 
life among strangers.” 

“ It would be the best thing you could do for them. They 
will certainly be spoiled if you go on this way ; and of course 
every one will blame you.” 

He thought of one who never considered them spoiled, 
or a trouble ; who never wearied of their caresses ; never 
frowned when dimpled arms almost strangled him ; when 
eager feet followed him from house to garden, and childish 
voices plied him with questions ; or when they sat upon his 
knee, and buried their soft fingers in his hair. Their love 
had been so active, never content with a quiet assurance of 
once for all. Could he be the one to chill their young hearts 
with lessons of coldness ? Alas ! how hard duty had be 
come ! He summoned courage to say, cheerfully, — 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


43 


“You may think differently of the matter, Ada, when you 
have considered it well.” 

“It is useless to hold out false hope,” she answered quick- 
ly. “ I could not be happy in the life you have planned. I 
will wait, therefore, until you have time for me.” 

This was the woman he had relied on so confidently ! the 
one who was to share toils as well as pleasures with him. 
He was chilled to the heart by her coldness, her want of 
sympathy, her lack of appreciation for the struggle he was 
going through. 

Th^^v turned down the street in which Ada lived, and no 
further word was spoken until they reached the house, when 
she said, “ You will come in ? ” 

“ Thank you, not to-night, dear.” His voice was not 
quite steady, but his kiss as fond as ever. 

“ Good night.” There was none of the eager persuasion 
she was so ready to use generally. 

He walked away slowly and sadly, with a sense of pain at 
his heart. It was well he could not see the flushed face Ada 
carried up to her sister’s room, nor the scornful smile with 
which she threw herself on the sofa. 

“ Where is Richard ? ” asked Mrs. Taylor. 

“ Gone home to the bosom -of his family ! ” The reply 
was bitter enough. 

“ Will he never have affairs straight ? ” 

“ He has called me into council ; ” and her eyes sparkled 
with an angry light. “ What do you think of his wishing 
me to give up Europe, marry him, and assist in the care of 
the children ? Quite a generous offer, — was it not ? ” 

“ Shall you ? ” 

“ Wouldn’t you advise me to ? ” 

“ No, Ada, I should not. You are young, and have had 
no experience with a family. Then they are only liis half 
brothers and sisters ; if they should turn out badly, you and 
Richard would always be blamed. Their father indulged 
them beyond everything. In a month’s time they would walk 


44 


IN TKUST, OK 


over you pretty effectually, and there would doubtless be n 
disagreeable separation. No, it is not a wise or prudent 
plan.” 

“ I ^^0 mean to go to Europe ; that will settle the ques- 
tion. It would be a mercy to take him away, for they will 
make a perfect slave of him. Listen to this — ” and Ada 
repeated the story of his paying the mortgage. 

“What quixotism!” and Mrs. Taylor gave a little pro- 
voked laugh. Her sense of honor had long ago been buried 
under the dust and rubbish of fashionable life. 

By the time Bichard reached home he began to ask him- 
self if it was absolutely necessary to sacrifice his own happi- 
ness, if it came to that. Mrs. Hall had spoken truly ; it 
would be difficult to stand between two interests, and yield 
the proper share of affection to both parties. He let him- 
self in with his latch-key, and though he would rather have 
avoided every one just now, he had fallen so in the habit of 
running up to the children’s sitting-room, that he stood in 
the doorway before he thought. 

Mabel had a book in her hand, and Tessy was sliding off 
the lounge, rubbing her eyes. 

“ Tessy ! ” and his voice had a touch of sharpness in it. 
“ What are you doing up, this time of night ? ” 

She sprang to his arms. “ I didn’t kiss you before you 
went out, and I could not go to bed. Dear, dear Dick 1 ” 

“ She pleaded to sit up, and I could not refuse her,'” inter- 
posed Mabel, gently. 

The touch of the soft face had already disarmed him. 
Clasping her to his heart, he satisfied her with repentant 
kisses, and sent her away. Then he took up Mabel’s book, — 
a French work she had been studying, — and turning the 
leaves idly, said, with a careless endeavor, — 

“ Bel, how would you like to go to boarding-school?” 

“ 0 Bichard ! I couldn’t endure it, and now of all times.” 
A white terror crept up in her face. 

“It is not so very dreadful. Some boarding-schools 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


46 


jire quite civilized institutions. And if Lily went with 
you ? ” 

“ Do you mean it ? Must we go away ? I think it would 
break my heart to leave home and part with Tessy. 0, 
please, Richard, do not send me.” 

“ My darling, don’t distress yourself. The idea came into 
my head, and some girls like it. I did not mean to' pair 
you.” He twined his arm around her, and her fair head 
drooped on his breast. 0, if God would only give him 
strength to be faithful to the old home affection ! Some day 
Ada might look upon his high trust in the same light he did. 
lie must “ endure to the end.” Yet an indefinable influence 
seemed playing a jarring discord in his soul, with a hand 
mercilessly cold. 


IN TRUST, OR 


CHAPTER VI. 

And though one wearies by the way, 

And hearts break in the sorrow, 

We’ll sow the golden grains to-day; 

The harvest comes to-morrow. 

Gerald Mas8ey. 

A SCAMPER through the yard and up the piazafc, a mys- 
terious tiptoing through the hall, and quite a “ company 
knock at the office door. Richard knew well who the in- 
vaders were ; their smothered laughs would have betrayed 
them, as well as their noisy raid up the yard. Entering into 
the spirit of merriment, he stole behind the door before he 
said, “ Come in.’’ It was opened a little way, and a voice 
in droll Irish inquired, “ Is the docthor in ? ” 

There was no answer. The door was pushed wider, the 
question repeated, and Tessy’s golden head began to make 
sunbeams. Her wandering eyes opened to their full extent 
as she exclaimed in a disappointed tone, “He isn’t here, 
Archie.” 

“Why, yes, he is; didn’t he say, ‘Come in’.^” and the 
next instant Tessy gave a cry of delight, as Richard rushed 
out and caught her in his arms, imitating he^ voice as he 
asked, “ Was it the docthor you wished to see, darlint ?” 

“ 0 Dick, we want to go sailing, after dinner.” 

“ It s office hours, and some poor Irishwoman might 
come ; but if Mabel will promise to raise a white flag in 
case of distress, and you will be sure to see it, I inciy be in- 
duced to consent.” 

As they walked through the hall, he placed one arm 
vound Lily’s neck. She bent to kiss the hand ; and fan- 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


47 


eying a tear dropped on it, he gazed earnestly at her. The 
bright eyes were brimming over. 

“ I couldn’t help it, Dick ; ” and her voice trembled. “ It 
was so like what he used to do ; and when you laugh, there 
comes just such a light in your eyes as used to sparkle in 
his. Dear, dear papa ! ” and with a little sob she put both 
arms around Richard’s neck. 

Mabel called them to prepare for dinner. The meal well 
over, they led him down to the boat-house, and shortly 
afterwards went skimming up the river, as merry as larks. 

But that evening, when the children were dismissed to 
bed, and Lily deep in her lessons, Mabel watched her 
brother’s figure as he paced up and down the garden walk. 
His head was bowed, his hands clasped behind him, his 
whole air one of sad thoughtfulness. She stole out to him, 
and taking his arm, said, beseechingly, “ May I walk with 
you, dear Richard ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ I want to talk, too. I have ever so many questions to 
ask.” 

“ Well,” he said, encouragingly. 

She hesitated a moinent, then began slowly : — 

“ I think I ought to know a little about our situation, 
Richard. I am the eldest girl, and will some day manage 
for the rest. I have been keeping accounts for Mrs. Hall, 
the past month, and learning what it costs to ' support a 
family. How much have we besides the house ? ” 

“ Two thousand dollars, and a sufficient sum for Robert’s 
education.” 

“We could not go on this way, then, unless you were in 
practice ? ” 

“ Don’t distress yourself about that, dear. If I had pur- 
chased such a chance, I must have paid a good price for it ; 
succeeding to it, I ought certainly to share the profits with 
the others. You must look upon it as a debt due the estate. 
It’s 30 much pleasanter than sitting on the watch for patients 


48 


IK TEUST, OH 


and wondering when one will get established ; and :t is n 
great comfort to go among those who loved him,'' 

“ Every one did,” was her fond rejoinder. 

“My highest ambition is to be such a man. I often think 
of this, in connection with him — ‘ being dead, yet speaketh.’ 
We must love one another the better for his sake.” 

This strengthened Mabel for what she most wished to 
say. 

“Before that night. Bichard,” — her voice was very low, 
— “ you were to be married. I have thought much about 
it lately. It does not seem right to take your time and 
affection from what should be the great hope of your life. 
Yet if you support us — ” 

“ I am young, and can wait,” he exclaimed, hopefully. 

“ I don’t want you to wait ; that is what troubles me. 
And, Bichard, I wonder if there could not be some com- 
promise, such as marrying Ada, and bringing her here? 
The house is large enough, and we should all love her so 
dearly. I would try to keep the children from annoying 
her, and do what I could for her happiness. Will you not 
ask her, please ? ” 

He mastered his emotion with an effort, for he had a trial 
in store for her. “ My darling,” he said, “ have you con- 
sidered the subject thoroughly ? Wives are not exactly 
like sisters. I suppose a man learns to love his wife so 
well that he prefers her to all the world. Would you like 
me to be taken from you, even though we lived in the same 
house ? ” 

There was no moon ; but the light from the window sent 
a long ray over their path, and by this he scanned her face 
eageily. She did not know how much he had at stake. 
Looking up with the proud nobleness of entire truth, she 
answered, — 

“ 0 Bichard ! did you think \ could be selfish when you 
were doing so much for us ? It would be right to have you 
love her best. I could not be satisfied unless I saw it so ; 


DU. BERTKAND’vS household. 


49 


but what we lost in you we should gain in her. She would 
be 80 much to me.’^ 

Do not blame the lover too severely, if, at that moment, 
he contrasted the two women he had known most intimately; 
for it seemed as if Mabel had suddenly blossomed into 
maturity, and was worthy of a place in the front rank. He 
remembered the sweet unselfishness of her childhood, her 
readiness to sacrifice herself for another’s enjoyment. If Ada 
were here, might she not learn to be tender and considerate, 
not for him, — he could trust her love there, — but for his, 
the children so sacredly bequeathed to him ? 

“ Will you tell her,” Mabel continued, “ that we are lodg- 
ing to love her and call her sister, and that, if she will only 
come and try us, we will be forever grateful ? I think we 
could not miss of being happy.” 

“ Thank you,” he said from his full heart ; but it was sorely 
troubled as he recalled Ada’s words and manner when they 
had discussed the same subject. He comforted Mabel, and 
determined, after waiting patiently a while, to make one 
more effort. 

There are natures at once exacting and self-renouncing, 
feeling keenly any drop that is withheld from the measure 
they receive, yet desiring others to be satisfied with what it 
pleases them to give. Ada would have yielded her fortune 
willingly to Richard, been content to devote her whole time 
to him ; but she must do it in her own way. If he had been 
left alone in the world, he would have found no more faith- 
ful and loving friend. She had never learned to study 
another’s happiness. Her life had been passed at boarding- 
school and the homes of her two sisters, both married to 
prosperous, indulgent men, and seeking their happiness in 
mere worldly pleasures. With these specimens of conjugal 
ease before her, Ada had planned her own. Amid the de- 
lights of a foreign tour, they would doubtless have assimi- 
lated more readily ; for Richard would have been devoted, 
and she radiant with an excitement that often cunningly 
5 


50 


IN TRUor, OR 


puts on the guise of love. When the quiet of every- da^ 
life came, he might have missed and longed for some old 
dreams, and understood how much too late it was to expect 
them. 

Now, Ada felt herself wronged. She said, a hundred 
times, she was willing to give up all for him — to positively 
forget sisters ard friends, if need be ; but, in return, she 
wanted him wholly. His family must be quite a secondary 
consideration. He might manage their property, send them 
to school, or see they had a home somewhere, and his duty 
would be done. Of course, when they visited her, she ex- 
pected to kiss them fondly, and treat them in a familiar, 
sisterly fashion, only they must not be troublesome. 

Both parties delayed a new discussion. Ada mistook 
Richard’s fear of giving pain for indecision. She deter- 
mined to gain her point by a little feminine strategy, and 
that fond appealing to his love which so often wins its way 
through the firmest heart. Susceptible as he was to impres- 
sions from those he loved, he was rarely mastered by im- 
pulse. He could not forget the first sacred ties of life at 
another’s bidding, no matter how well loved that other 
might be. Unconsciously to both, they were drifting apart. 
Richard resolved, after much sorrowful consideration, to 
postpone the union for a while, if Ada resolutely refused to 
share his present home. 

Summer came on radiantly. One grave blossomed in 
beauty ; one household learned what it was to have “ treas- 
ures in heaven.” The duties and pleasures of life came to 
them as they come to all, and were taken up cheerfully. 
Grief does not always mean weakness. 

Aunt Sophy had petitioned for a good long visit from 
“the children.” Ada and her two sisters were going to the 
White Mountains, and Richard had promised to devote a 
brief period to them. At this juncture Robert returned. 

Hitherto they had been united by similar affections and 
tastes, as if one sou. pervaded the household. But it was 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


5 . 


evident Eobert began to indulge some new traits. He was 
full of fun and frolic, petted the younger ones, but avoided 
both Richard and Mabel, and seemed coolly indifferent to 
their regard. He sauntered into the library, one morning, 
where Richard was writing letters, and threw himself at full 
length on the sofa, watching the gliding of the pen, until 
his eyebrows contracted impatiently, and fitful flashes of 
light escaped through the jetty lashes. 

“ Dick, my dear fellow,” he said at length, “ do you mean 
to write all the morning ? I want a little conversation 
with you.” 

“ I can attend to you, also,” was the reply. “ What 
is it ? ” 

“ There’s a party of my college chums going to Lake 
George, to have a capital time boating, fishing, and camping 
out. They are to start on Monday next, and I’ve promised 
to join them.” 

The tone was carelessly independent. 

“ Is there to be any reliable person in the party ? ” 

“ Frank Conway’s uncle lives there ; he’s old and steady 
enough, I suppose, and will keep an eye over us.” 

“ How long will they stay ? and have you any idea of the 
expense ? ” 

“ Six weeks or so. A hundred dollars will do me, I 
fancy.” 

Richard turned towards him, and said, slowly, “ I do not 
approve of the plan. Suppose you go to aunt Sophy’s in- 
Bread ; you enjoyed yourself there last summer.” 

“ Cape May ! ” was the disdainful ejaculation. “ It’s 
good enough for the children ; yet there is a possibility of 
such a delightful scene palling on the senses after a while. 
No, Dick ; nothing short of Lake George for me this sum- 
mer.” There was a resolute line above the eyebrows, and 
the lips shut determinedly. 

To persuade was useless. With good-natured firmness, 
Richard said, “I think it too extravagant just now; espe- 


52 


IN TRUST, OR 


cially as you spent sixty dollars more than your allowance 
last term.” 

“ I only want my own. You need not trouble yourself to 
heard up money for me,” was the rather sulky answer. 

“ A thousand dollars will not do everything, Kobert. You 
have made an unfortunate beginning.” 

‘•Well, if I choose to spend my own, that’s my affair. 
Hermit-living isn’t at all to my taste; so don’t make me 
angry by preaching on the text economy. I’m bound to go; 
and I’ll raise the money some way.” The fire that sparkled 
in his eyes was not pleasant to contemplate. 

Richard was sorely puzzled. He could not exercise a 
father’s authority over this young man, although he felt he 
was beginning a dangerous course. Sealing his letters, he 
said, gravely, “ I’ll see Mr. Guilford.” 

Robert lighted his cigar as he returned, “ Well, I’ve given 
you fair warning. I know I can borrow the money.” 

Richard spent two hours in calls, before he drove to the 
lawyer’s office. The clerk was alone. 

“ Where is Mr. Guilford ? ” he asked. 

“ 0 Dr. Bertrand ! I supposed you knew he was ill. He 
went home yesterday noon, and has not been down since.” 

He drove to the house immediately. Mrs. Guilford met 
him with an anxious face. 

“ I am so glad you have come,” she began. “ I wanted 
Mr. Guilford to send for you yesterday ; and this morning, 
when James went down, you were out. He is seriously ill, 
[ fear, and has been slightly delirious for an hour or two.” 

The sick man started as they entered his room. His fa<se 
was flushed, his eyes sunken and wild. At Mrs. Guilford’s 
announcement, he rallied a little, and held out his hand, 
saying, “ 0 doctor ! I believe I was half asleep.” 

Dr. Bertrand made his examination, and asked a few 
necessary questions. Mr. Guilford collected his thoughts 
with an effort, and answered slowly, — 

“ I have not felt perfectly well for a week, but the weathei 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


53 


has been very warm, and I was so busy, I thought it came 
from overwork. Yesterday I rose with a most excruciating 
headache, and felt too weak to stir. I spent a couple of 
hours at the office, and then came home, thinking a good 
rest would set me up ; but I had a high fever all night. 
However, I dare say your skill can bring me around in a 
day or two.” 

Richard studied the symptoms thoughtfully, and then 
asked, in a calm tone, “ Have you any objections to my call- 
ing in Dr. D .” 

“ Dick, my boy, what is it ? ” and Mr. Guilford started 
up. “ Your father never shirked a truth, and I always hon- 
ored him for it. If you fear anything serious, I ought to 
know before my mind gives out. I’ve had hard work to 
keep straight this morning.” He fixed his eyes keenly on 
the young man, whose face changed a trifie under the scru- 
tiny. 

“ You have every indication of typhoid, I think,” was the 
grave answer ; “ and though my skill might be sufficient, I 
should feel safer to rely on Dr. D ’s greater experi- 

ence.” 

“ As you like ; although I have as much confidence in 
you. I am aware there are some things beyond a physi- 
cian’s reach. Does it promise to be severe ? ” 

“ I think it does. I wish I had seen you sooner.” 

Mr. Guilford sank back with an expression of exhaustion. 
After a long pause, he said, “ There is a little business I 
must attend to.” 

Richard hesitated. He knew how necessary extreme 
quiet was ; he also knew there was a chance of his never 
being better able to finish any earthly task, and consented. 

Stop at the office, and send Jarvis up, please.” 

Something besides directions struggled through the young 
physician’s mind — a remembrance of his father’s death, 
and the blessed consolation that he had been among those 
who “ die in the Lord ” Was there not a duty owing to 
5 ^ 


54 


TRUST, OR 


the soul as well as the body ? He leaned over the bed 
with an earnest face, and said, in the gentlest of tones, — 
Hear friend, is it well with you in either event ? 

A weak, helpless light in the sick man’s eyes, with an 
imploring gesture of the hands, was the only answer. 
Richard left the apartment quietly. His own perplexity 
he must bear alone. Robert must go, and risk all im- 
proper associations. He would be powerless to restrain 
him. 


DJI. Bertrand's household. 


55 


CHAPTEE YII. 

Sorrow and eilence are strong, and patient endurance is Godlike, 
Therefore accomplish thy labor of love till the heart is made Godlike. 

Evangelink. 

Not finding Dr. D at home, he remembered an en- 

gagement with Ada, and drove at once to Mrs. Taylor’s. 
His betrothed met him with a bright face, and said gayly, as 
she ushered him into the drawing-room, — 

“How good of you to come just when one wants you! 
We have made our final decisions. But how grave you look ! 
What new trouble has been added to your list ? ” 

The flippant tone pained him, yet he answered pleasantly, 
“ Never mind me. What are the arrangements ? ” 

“We are going earlier than we thought — next Tuesday 
Mr. Taylor can stay only two weeks, as his partner is going 
to California. The party will consist of Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, 
Mrs. Ashley, you, and myself. In ten or twelve days Mr. 
Ashley will rejoin us, and you, like a good child, will remain 
with us until we return.” 

He thought of Mr. Gruilford, and was silent. 

“ You shall not make any excuse,” she began, with girlish 
petulance. “ For once I am resolved to have my own way.” 

“ Listen, Ada.” There was some authority in his tone. 
“ Mr. Guilford, my father’s cherished friend as well as my 
own, is seriously ill with typhoid fever. At that period he 
will have reached the worst. No physician would leave a 
patient, at such a moment, to go on a plj^sure tour. Affec- 
tion as well as honor binds me.” 

“You can never do anything I ask of you 1 I think some- 
times that you have not the slightest regard for the tie 


66 


IN TRUST, OR 


between us; that where I go, and what I do, are alike indif- 
ferent to you. I’m not sure you would have felt at all huri 
if I had left you without a word.” 

“ Ada, you are ungenerous. You know I have been looking 
forward to this journey as a great pleasure ; but could you 
counsel me to leave Mr. Gruilford at such a time ? ” 

Doubtless there are as skilful physicians in the city as 
yourself,” was the cold reply. 

“ If I did not value my reputation, common gratitude 
tvould bid me remain. If the tour could be delayed a 
week — 

“ It cannot. We are all ready, and shall go with or with- 
out you. I confess to some mortification in owning to my 
sisters that 'my lover puts his duty to others on a much higher 
round than his duty to me. When it is your pleasure to at- 
tend to me, I shall be happy to know the fact.” Her tone 
was bitter, her face flushed and haughty. 

“ I will join you at the earliest day possible. If you 
think, Ada, that, in giving you pain, I do not suffer any, you 
are mistaken.” 

She would not unbend. “ I have no more favors to ask of 
you. When your duty leads you in this direction, come.” 

“ You are angry.” 

“ I am hurt — wounded to the quick. Your whole manner 
has changed towards me. If you are tired of — of — ” and 
her rapid breath compelled her to pause. 

He rose and stood before her with much authoritative 
pride in his manner, and his tone was almost stern, as he 
said, — 

“Ada, this is child’s play; nay, worse. It is wicked. 
We two, who expect to be nearest and dearest through life, 
have no right to torment each other with it. You know I 
love you — that my heart has never wandered for an hour. J 
am confident you would despise a man who could be weakly 
tempted to forget duty and honor. If I neglected others, 
what safeguard would you have ? ” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


5: 


“Please yourself. We will not quarrel about it.” Her 
tone was provokingly complaisant. 

He rose to go. Her chilling manner never relaxed, and 
their adieux were coldly spoken. With a heavy heart he 
sought Dr. D , and the two proceeded on their errand. 

Mr. Guilford was rapidly growing worse. He did not 
recognize either of them, when they aroused him from his 
stupor. 

“ You are doing the best that can be done,” said Dr. 
D — — . “ The disease has so much the start of you that it 

will be difficult to manage. Poor Guilford ! What a pity 
he did not ask advice earlier ; but that is ever the way with 
these strong, hearty men. They think themselves invul- 
nerable.” 

“ And your opinion is — ” 

“ That it’s a serious case. Steady nerves and a cool brain 
are what you must bring to the trial, my young friend. Guil- 
ford has a strong constitution, and is a temperate man ; that’s 
in his favor. But the hot weather is against him, and his 
delirium will doubtless be very exhausting. But we will 
hope for the best. Come to me in any doubt.” 

“Thank you.” He could not think calmly when the life 
of a dear friend was in jeopardy. 

He hurried home for a little rest and quiet ; but as he was 
banging up his hat in the hall, an angry, boyish voice caught 
his ear. 

“ You’re mean and hateful. Bob Bertrand, that’s what you 
are ! I wish you’d go off again, for you plague me to death, 
and I don’t like you one bit ! ” 

He walked to the piazza and surveyed the scene — Bobert 
cool and tantalizing, Archie flushed and tearful. He held 
out his hand to the child, and said, sorrowfully, — 

“ Who is angry and rude ? ” 

“ 0, Dick ! but you don’t know how he torments me 1 ” 

“ What a little fool you are, Archie ! ” and Bobert saufk- 
tered down the steps. 


58 


IN 'tkxJST, 


Kichard led the child to the liorary. and spent his leisure 
in listening patiently to the story. The dispute had been 
trifling enough in the beginning, but Archie was passionate, 
and smarted under a sense of injustice he could feel better 
than explain. It was no light task to_ conquer him with 
kindly patience, to convince the child he was not to sin, even 
under provocation. Just as the dinner-beU rang, Archie 
clasped his arms around his brother’s neck, and said, in a 
voice that was still humble with sobs, “0, Dick, you are 
the best man in the world ! I love you almost as I used to 
love papa.” 

When they took their seats at the table, he passed quietly 
around to Robert’s place, and said low, but frankly, as he 
neld out his hand, “ I am sorry I was so rude to you.” 

Robert gave the hand a little pinch, and laughed. 

After dinner Richard walked in the garden with the chil- 
dren. He was surprised to find how soon a wrong example 
was beginning to bring forth fruit. Robert’s brilliancy was 
so captivating that the insidious poison took a broad sweep 
before it declared itself. Would he be strong enough to 
counteract the influence it might have on Archie ? More 
keenly than ever he felt the responsibility laid upon him by 
his father’s death. With silent fervor he prayed for guid- 
ance, for patience, and a hopeful heart. 

How full of pain that bright, beautiful summer day had 
been to him ! Where he had looked for roses, thorns had 
pricked him. Where he had gone for strength, he had found 
weakness. But there was one never-failing Friend, and in 
this hour of perplexity he went to Him who had said, 
“ My grace is sufficient for thee.” 

Robert had lighted his cigar immediately after dinner, 
and strolled out. It was late when he returned, and Richard, 
lying wearily on the sofa, was thankful not to be disturbed. 

After breakfast the next morning, he summoned his 
brother to the library. As Robert noticed the grave, de- 
termined face, he fortified himself with some arguments he 


DR. Bertrand’s hodsehoed. 


59 


had l)vi6a running over in his mind ; but the precautions were 
needles. * 

“ I couii not discuss your proposed trip with Mr. Guilford 
yesterday,” Eichard began in a kindly manner, “ for I found 
him very ill. I have therefore concluded to let you go under 
protest I do no.' approve of the plan. I think, with your 
means, it is extravagant; yet I feel myself unable to make 
finy other arrangement that would satisfy you. I do not ex- 
pect to have a father’s authority over you, but I want to feel 
assureu, Robert, that there is a co^diai brotherly affection be- 
tween us. I want to have coniL'dence enough in you to trust 
you anywhere, and believe you are doing nothing you would 
be ashamed to have our father know. I want you to think that 
however much my judgment may differ from yours, I have 
your interest and happiness at heart. Will you do this ? ” 

“ You’re a good fellow, Dick, but I wasn’t made after your 
pattern. There’s different blood running in my veins, and I 
cannot get along in this humdrum style. You need not feel 
afraid, though. I can take care of myself; ” and Robert 
glanced around with a proud air of self-smbciency. 

“ You are young, and of a nature that temptation 

half way ; but 0, Robert, for our dead father’s sake be care* 
ful. Remember, we are to strive worthily to meet him at 
'he last.” 

“ Don’t preach to me, Dick 1 It always stirs up my blood, 
and just now I don’t want to say anything cross to you. I’m 
not any worse than other young men, although being a saint 
does not run in the list of my accomplishments.” 

Richard wrote him out a check. “ Do not forget,” hp 
said, “that this lessens the money for your education. 
Think before you spend it.” 

“ I have thought, and ‘ my heart’s in the highlands.' 
Thank you for all, Dick ; ” and taking the check, he bowed 
himself gracefully out of the room. 

Richard wrote some letters, and then proceeded to his 
daily duties. Mr. Guilford was much worse ; but besides this 


60 


IN irust; or 


he had no very severe cases. He was glad of a spare half 
hour before dinner to devote to Ada, for he had experienced 
a strange uneasiness since their parting. 

“ Miss Townley had gone to New York,” the servant said, • 
briefly ; but, before he could turn away, Mrs. Taylor fluttered 
through the hall, and in the most solicitous of tones, in- 
quired for Mr. Guilford. 

“We are all so sorry, and feel greatly disappointed at 
your not being able to join our party, but of course a friend 
like Mr. Guilford demands your first attention. You must 
follow us as soon as you can.” 

Her cordial tone quite reassured him, and he answered, 

“ You cannot regret the interruption more than I do. As 
soon as it is possible for me to leave Mr. Guilford, I shall 
come. When will Ada return ? ” 

“ On Saturday. Mr. Taylor brought her a note last night' 
from Mrs. Ashley. There’s some shopping to finish, I be- 
lieve.” 

He left her with a lighter heart. Anger had not been the 
cause of Ada’s sudden departure, and it was evident Mrs. 
Taylor did not blame him very severely. 

He came home to find the scene of Archie’s late quarrel 
in pleasant confusion, and the two brothers agreeing capital- 
ly. Robert was displaying some handsome fishing tackle, 
and a box of flies that interested Archie wonderfully. His 
rifle, powder-flask, a dainty hunting suit, and a wide-brimmed 
straw hat, had all undergone inspection. Tessy was water- 
ing the jasmine with his drinking-cup, an ingenious affair 
that afforded her much amusement. Robert was in a charm- 
ing mood, and after dinner romped with the children, and 
sang them a host of droll college songs, making most gro- 
tesque faces to accompany them. Tessy seemed to be de- 
lighted with — 

“ Old mother Scrag-gins couldn’t go to meetin’, 

’Cause she hadn’t two shoes for to put her feet in j 
Meetin’, Meetin’, 

Couldn’t go to Meetin*, 

’Cause she hadn’t two shoes for to put her feet in.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


61 


The week ended and a new one began. Robert started 
oft* in the highest of spirits. Caution and advice were so 
evidently useless, that Richard did nut profi’er them ; but his 
heart yearned over the handsome, wayward boy. 

On the following day he went to New York with his be- 
trothed’s party. He felt that Ada had not quite forgiven 
him ; and as visions of the pleasant tour rose before him, 
the sacrifice seemed almost too great. Under a mask of 
careless good humor, Ada managed to give him many a 
stinging wound, and at the last, while the bell was ringing, 
in the midst of his assurance that he would rejoin her at the 
earliest possible day, she whispered, “ I have half a mind 
to fall sick. When I am married, I shall be ill all the time, 
for the sake of keeping you attentive.” 

His glance was reproachful. They had never parted in so 
indiff’erent a manner. For the first time there entered into 
his heart a doubt, not of her constancy, not of her devotion, 
but whether he had chosen the woman who would care fof 
his happiness above all things. 

6 


62 


IN TETT8T. OH 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A strange, sweet path formed day by day, 
flow, when, and wherefore, we cannot say; 

No more than our own life paths we know. 

Whither they lead us, why we go. 

Miss Muloch. 

With an anxious, prayerful heart, Dr. Richard Bertiand 
awaited the issue of his friend Gruilford's case. It was the 
first real responsibility since his father’s death, and that event 
had made him pitiful and tender. He felt keenly for the 
loving wife and young children who would need the careful 
guidance of such a parent for years to come. Through the 
fearful crisis he never left him. Taking his station at the 
bedside, he noted every stage of the waning delirium until 
it became incoherent mutterings. The terrible fever strength 
began to subside ; the wild, eager eyes grew dull ; the hands 
fell like dead weights ; there was a lingering transition into 
heavy slumber, marked by spasmodic gasps and stertorous 
breathing. Midnight passed ; the gray dawn came up in the 
east. Mr. Gruilford’s pulse grew weaker, and his face as- 
sumed a pallid hue. The fever had gone, but whether life 
would not follow it, seemed a doubtful question. He de- 
spatched a servant for Dr. D as soon as he heard the 

household astir. 

All that human knowledge could suggest had been done. 
For an hour the two watched; then they noted a faint change; 
the pulse revived, a calmer sleep succeeded. 

“ If he has strength for a day or two, he will come ou< 
safe. It has been a severe case, and, Bertrand, you deserv# 
great credit,” said Dr D — ^ 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


63 


“ I never felt before bow entirely in the hands of God the 
issues of life are,” Richard replied, solemnly. “ When our 
best is done, we have to wait for His fiat.” 

“ True, true ; but a less cautious man might have killed 
him in three days. Didn’t I hear something about your 
going abroad ? ” 

“ My father’s death prevented it ; ” and a little flush rose 
to Richard’s pale cheeks. 

“If you will take an old man’s advice, — and your father had 
gome faith in me, — you will not leave this path until you have 
made your mark. The next ten years here will be invalu- 
able to you, if you expect to stay in the practice. I predict 
a fair future.” 

“ Thank you ; ” and Richard bowed his adieu. 

All that Mr. Guilford would need for several hours was 
extremest quiet. After seeing Mrs. Guilford take her station 
in the darkened room, he departed. The fresh summery air 
seemed strange as it blew in his face ; indeed, so tensely had 
his nervous system been wrought upon, he could scarcely 
realize for the first few minutes where he was. He took a 
long, brisk walk, and reached home mentally refreshed, but 
physically tired. 

“ How pale and weary you look, but not despairing,” was 
Mabel’ 23 greeting. “ There is hope for Mr. Guilford.” 

“ A little. It was a terrible night ; but I am thankful 1 
remained. And now, Bel, I’m going to sleep an hour or 
two ; do not let me be disturbed.” 

He bathed his hands and face, and was just settling him- 
self on the sofa when Mabel entered the library. 

“ I’ve made you a nice cup of tea,” she said, with a 
smile. 

“ Your face tempts me to try it,” was his response. 

She arranged his pillows, shut out the sunshine, and sat 
down by him with a book in her hand. 

“ What’s that for ? ” and an arch light crossed his face. 

“I’m going to read you to sleep, as I used to papa, 


64 


IN TRUST, OR 


when he was fagged out; and you like ‘ In Memoriam’ so 
much.” 

He closed his eyes, and listened to the clear, liquid voice, 
until the room floated away, and in its stead came dim pic- 
tures of meadow greens, with the tender ripple of silvery 
brooks, the murmur of forest trees rocking in the breeze, de- 
licious fragments of music, and remembrances of fragrant 
airs, steeped in odorous summer blossoms. A vague sense 
of beauty and comfort stole over him. Two hours later he 
awoke refreshed, and found himself alone. 

He ran up stairs to Mabel, and exclaimed, laughingly, — 

“ What a charming nurse you are ! Pm afraid you have 
not a very high opinion of my endurance, when you see how 
one night’s work used me up ; but I shall take matters easier 
another time. Now I must hurry ofi*, and finish up my calls 
before dinner. There’s your pay ; ” and he kissed the rosy 
mouth. 

By Saturday there was a fair hope of Mr. Guilford’s re- 
covery. Bichard was discussing this, and their own plans, 
as they sat on the balcony, in the star-lit evening. 

“ And so, Bel,” he said, “ if you can be ready by Tues- 
day, I’ll take you all down to aunt Sophy’s, and stay one 
night ; then on Thursday I shall start for the White Moun- 
tains.” 

“ 0, please, Dick,” cried Lily, “ put it off until Wednes- 
day. Lucy Ogden’s birthday party is on Tuesday, and we 
are all invited. They’re to have a splendid time, with a 
supper on the lawn, and the fireworks Lucy couldn’t have 
^Fourth of July because she was sick. I wouldn’t miss it for 
anything ! ” 

“ Wednesday, then,” said Bichard. And on Monday one 
letter was despatched to Cape May, and another to the White 
Mountains. 

Everything went on prosperously. Tuesday morning 
Mabel spent in looking over the children’s clothes, and mak- 
ing preparations for the journey. Lily and Archie /nter* 


DE. BERTEAND’s household. 


65 


spersed their dinner with glowing anticipations of the party. 
Tessy’s plate was sent away nearly untouched, and she only 
played with her dessert of pine-apple. Richard noticed this, 
and also her flushed face and sparkling eyes. 

“ You have been playing too hard this morning,’’ he said. 

“ 0, I didn’t play at all ; I went to sleep on the sofa.” 

He drew her to his knee, and took the little hands in his. 
They were feverish ; so he said, gently, — 

“ Suppose you take a ride with me, and then come home 
to Mabel. It will be better for you than going to the 
party.” 

“ 0 Dick ! ” She drew a long, quivering sigh, and her 
eyes fllled with tears. “ Please do let me go ; I’m not sick.” 

He had been studying fever symptoms so long, that he 
fancied he must have grown nervous over them. He looked 
at her earnestly ; but the beseeching face was too much for 
him. 

“ Never mind, pet ; don’t cry. You may go if you will 
promise not to run too much, or eat up all the candies ; and 
do not get frightened at the fireworks.” 

She kissed Richard with convulsive fondness, but in a few 
moments was laughing gayly at some of Archie’s nonsense. 

A sudden summons for Dr. Bertrand interrupted the after- 
dinner conversation, and he hurried away. Mabel dressed 
the children, and Martin took them in the carriage. Tessy 
looked so bright and pretty that she dismissed the fears 
Richard’s words had called up. It was only a child’s in- 
tense way of anticipating pleasure. 

Richard was busy until quite late in the evening. He fe:: 
rather disappointed, as he had intended to have a nice long 
talk with Mabel, before their separation. Letting himself 
in with his latch-key, he encountered her at the foot of the 
stairs ; and even in that subdued light her white face star- 
tled him. 

“ Tessy ! ” he exclaimed, at a thought. 

“ I am so glad you have come ; ” and Mabel clung to him 
6 * 


66 


IN TRUST, OR 


with a frightened grasp. “ Mrs. Ogden’s nurse brought her 
back just at dusk. She had complained of a hoadache, and 
at last cried to come home. I bathed her and put her in her 
crib, and she fell asleep for a little while, but awoke so wild 
that I had to call in Mrs. Hall.” 

By this time they had reached the apartment. In her little 
bed lay the child, talking, laughing, and crying, in a breath ; 
her face crimsoned with fever, her eyes staring vacantly 
around. Richard took the hot hands in his, smoothed ^way 
the golden curls, and tried to calm her. 

“ It’s brother Dick,” he said, soothingly. “ Tessy re- 
members brother Dick ? ” 

She made an effort, as if to recall her wandering senses ; 
but it was useless. 

“ She has not recognized me since she woke,” Mabel said, 
choking down the fear at her heart. 

Mrs. Hall was very anxious, and obeyed Richard’s orders 
with speed and quiet. The carriage drove into the yard, 
and the gay voices floated up through the open window. 

“ Bel,” Richard said, quickly, “ go down and keep them 
as still as you can. They must not come in here ; I want 
Lily to sleep elsewhere, for I shall stay with Tessy.” 

She ran down and managed to allay their apprehensions, 
mingled as they were with bits of pleasure — accounts of the 
fireworks, the lawn full of colored lanterns, and soirow that 
Tessy could not have seen it all. It was some time before 
she could quiet them sufiiciently for sleep, and then she re- 
turned to Richard. Tessy lay dozing now ; but her eyes 
were half open. She looked into her brother’s face with a 
feeling of awe, and said, just under her biOtith, — 

“ Is it typhoid ? ” 

“No, not that. We will see what it proves in the morn^ 
ing. And now, dear, I want you to go to sleep, for to-mor- 
row you may have to play nurse, and overstrained nerves 
won’t do.” 

He kissed away her half-tearful pleading, and led her to 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


67 


the door. Through those long hours of the night he thought 
not only of the danger, but the new disappointment that had 
befallen him. 

At early dawn Mabel was down again. Richard had fallen 
into a light doze. Tessy moaned uneasily, but was not rest- 
less. Even in that pale light she could see the scarlet face 
and arms in strong relief against the white pillow and night- 
dress. Like a flash the truth thrilled through her, leaving 
her ccld, but calm and strong. When Richard stirred she 
went to the sofa. 

“ 0 Mabel ! I did not mean you should come in the room 
until ” 

“ It is scarlet fever,” she said, in a steady voice. “ I am 
not afraid.” 

He drew her down beside him, asking, — 

“ Do you want to take care of her ? ” 

“ As if I could give her up to any one else ! Our precious 
baby papa loved so well.” 

“ I would rather have you ; and there is no danger if you 
are careful. If you are to take office under me, you must 
learn first not to be wasteful of your strength. I want you 
to have your breakfast every morning before you do much 
around her ; and you must walk in the garden for fresh 
air. I will see if Mrs. Parkhurst cannot take Archie and 
Lilian for a week ; it will make less care for you, and we 
shall be able to keep the house quieter.” 

“Do you think — ” and Mabel’s tears finished the sen* 
tence. 

“ I have a good deal of hope, dearest. My experience of 
the last fortnight has taught me much. Yet we can judge 
nothing for the present. She is very ill, with a most dan- 
gerous disease. Get your prayer-book, Mabel, and let ua 
read together.” 

It was the twenty-seventh of the month. Among the 
psalms for that day was the one hundred and twenty-first 
How comfortingly these sentences fell : — 


68 


IN TKUST, OK 


“ Behold he that keepeth Israel shall neither slinnher noi 
sleep. The Lord himself is thy keeper ; the Lord is thy de- 
fence upon thy right hand. 

So that the sun shall not hum thee hy day., neither the 
moon hy night.^* 

Ah, yes, here was the stay and support. When human 
love grew weak and fearful, the everlasting arms of divine 
strength were folded about it. They were to be kept from 
all evil, watched over by One who could never know weari- 
ness. Mabel gathered courage, and looked steadily on the 
way before her. 

Opening the window blinds, the fragrant air rushed in, 
heavy with night dew that had lain for hours steeping in 
honeysuckle and roses, and the odorous dampness of the 
river. Tiny threads of vapor curled upward, clinging ten- 
dril-like to the shore. Afar, the horizon seemed studded with 
bars of sapphire and emerald, while faint, arrowy streaks of 
gold shot up, and were lost in the filmy blue overhead. Then 
the glory of day burst slowly through the crimson and pur- 
ple veils ; tree and shrub were burnished with the glowing 
tints, save where in shadow lurked a weird, fleecy mist. As 
drifts of rosy cloud floated across the sky, the very air grew 
tremulous with radiated heat ; the freshness turned into lan- 
guor, and the promise of a long, hot summer day dawned 
upon them. But Mabel knew who had said, — “So that the 
sun shall not burn thee by day.’’ 

A solemn awe fell upon the household. Instead of Ann’s 
lively repartee and gay laugh, she went about with a great 
weight on her heart. Mrs. Hall sat up stairs and sewed, so 
as to be within call. Mabel was grave, and her eyes had a 
startled look in them, as if she could not quite reconcile her- 
self to the sense of danger. It took her back to those sor- 
rowful days whose shadow had only lightened, not departed. 
The little sufferer lay moaning and tossing, restlessly, with 
no light of recognition in her eyes. As Mabel watched, this 
seemed the hardest of all. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


69 


The day was an almost stifling one. Even in the sun went 
westward, the flickering currents of air seemed to shake out 
rays of molten gold. There was no breeze stirring, and all 
nature drooped exhausted. Tessy’s fever raged terribly. 
As Richard stood gazing at the burning face, he said, 
slowly, — 

“ Mabel, do you think you could cut her hair r It is so 
A arm, clinging about her face.” 

Slie brought the scissors, and with a trembling hand slowly 
severed the shining rings that were fast becoming matted by 
heat and restlessness, one by one, and laid them in a box of 
keepsakes. How would they be taken out ? As little golden 
remembrances of one gone to heaven, or to be smiled over 
at some happy reunion, when the child’s voice was again 
the gayest of all ? Only God could tell. Her tears fell 
silently upon them. 0, how powerless poor human love 
was at its best estate ! It was well that faith could believe, 
through all the blinding agony, that God was a Father who 
remembered mercy. 

Late in the evening Mabel was dismissed, with injunctions 
to go to sleep as soon as possible, and Richard watched 
through the quiet night alone. It was not strange, perhaps, 
that something besides Tessy should linger in his thoughts. 
In two days he had hoped to see Ada. How would she bear 
this new disappointment ? Was there some strange fatal- 
ity between them ? He brought his writing desk, and 
began a letter to her ; yet, disguise the fact with never so 
much love, he felt he could not lead Ada to look upon his 
duties in the same light that he did. He could not open his 
whole heart to her. Alas for love, when there must be res- 
civations and fears ! Its divine essence is gone, its electric 
chord is weakened. More sacred than ever seemed his 
promise now, and looking down the future, he felt the years, 
only, could release him. No wonder such a conscience 
should shrink and tremble with tender, yearning pain. 


70 


IN TRUST, OR 


Another and another day of heat, blinding sunshine, and 
the agony of dread. The little sulferer lost some of her 
wildness, and sank into pitiful moans, as she tossed her arms 
about, or lay with her eyes half open, regardless of the faces 
pleading in wordless pathos for one gleam of recognition. 
Then there came a time when they counted hours, moments, 
and prayed as they only pray, who stand shivering at the 
entrance of the dark valley, for one beloved ; when they 
scarcely breathed, and learned how little they had hoped, 
when they came back from utter despair, and glanced in each 
other’s faces, with a low cry of relief. 

After this Mabel had much more to do. With returning 
consciousness Tessy’s wants increased ; and the childish rest- 
lessness, the petulant, humorsome fancies, might have tried 
any other than a loving heart. There were no traces of 
weariness in her face, no impatience in her tones ; indeed, 
•her thorough gratitude gave her strength for all demands. 
Richard used to watch this assiduous tenderness with a curi- 
ously strange feeling. Was it inherent in all women, or 
couM Mabel be a higher type of her sex ? 

Lilian and Archie came home. Familiar voices floated 
on the summer air, and rang through the house so lately 
silent with the chill of apprehension. Tessy, pillowed on a 
corner of the lounge, or nestling in Mabel’s arms, listening 
to the sweet old songs she loved so dearly, her face reduced 
to baby proportions, her scanty locks just waving around her 
head, her thin little hands too weak to grasp anything, was 
the central attraction. How happy they all were ! And one 
Sunday, wLen Richard carried her down to the parlor, so 
iMabel might play their evening hymn while they all sang, 
their satisfaction was complete. Could he be the one to 
break up this pleasant home circle ? 

Aunt Sophy had written for them as soon as Tessy could 
bear the journey. Mabel was very willing to go, and sin^ 
cere.y sorry that Richard’s trip had been delayed. 


DR. BERTKAKD S HOUSEHOLD. 


71 


“ When will it be safe to start ? ” she asked. 

“ Next week, I think. The sea air and a little bathing 
will soon bring the roses to Tessy’s cheeks.” 

“0,” laughed Lily, “ half a wave would carry her to 
Europe, and a breaker land her in the China Sea.” Tessy’s 
recent efforts at walking had amused the two younger ones 
greatly. 

The child made rapid progress. Kichard took her out for 
short rides, Archie petted her when she was restless, and 
Lily arranged dolls, dishes, and toys to her liking, twenty 
times an hour. Then, when the weary eyes were turned to 
Mabel, she was soothed into refreshing slumbers, and nature 
wrought for her with silent power. 

Again the packing commenced. This time there was no 
interruption. Mr. Guilford came to say good by, and was 
delighted with the'r bright faces. Since his illness he had 
loved Richard like a son. 


72 


IN TRFST, OR 


CHAPTER IX. 

The man is the spirit he worked in; not what he did, bnt what he becime. 

With self-renunciation begins life. 

Carlyle. 

The day was bright and clear, and there was a fresh 
breeze as they steamed down the bay. The purple hills of 
Staten Island gleamed with the peculiar golden bronze of the 
later summer, and the low-lying Jersey shore was bathed in 
a mist of dun amber. The waves crept slowly shoreward, 
drifting into fantastic shapes, whose foamy crest pranced 
along, and then, breaking, scattered the pearly spray far up 
on the land. As they left the city behind them, the distant 
ships looked like flocks of sea-birds, outlined against the 
blue sky. 

Tessy sat in Richard’s lap, her pale little face and his 
devotion attracting more than a casual attention from the 
passengers. She watched Archie and Lilian in their eager 
enjoyment, glanced at the places Richard pointed out to 
them, and was presently lulled to sleep by the motion and 
the monotonous music. More than one mother’s face kin- 
dled into a sweet smile over the picture they made. 

At the end of their sail, aunt Sophy came to meet them 
in a large family carriage, and bestowed upon them the 
warmest of welcomes. 

“ Poor baby,” she said, taking Tessy’s wasted hand. “If 
it had been any other season of the year, I should have 
come as soon as I received your letter. Nearly every one 
is alarmed about scarlet fever. I don’t see how you man- 
aged so well, my dear ; ” and she gave Mabel a fond smile. 

“ Mabel proved a most excellent nurse,” Richard rejoined. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


73 


** And you know I had a physician always at hand,” was 
Mabel’s arch answer. 

While aunt Sophy listened to the story, Archie amused 
himself with attempts at driving. Presently they reached a 
large country-house, whose numerous additions were more 
suggestive of comfort than architectural beauty. Two bois- 
terous cousins nearly smothered Archie and Lily with kisses. 
Aunt Sophy led the way up stairs to a spacious apartment, 
whose white curtains, checked matting, and maple chairs 
looked cool and inviting. 

“ This is the best I can do for you,” she exclaimed, 
glancing at Mabel. “ Lily must share Dora’s mom, and 
Tom can take Archie in charge. I’ve been crowded with 
boarders this summer, but I’ve kept this room in spite of 
all. Now I’ll go and send your trunk up. Wouldn’t you 
like to have supper here this first night ? ” 

“ A very delightful proposal. But think of the trouble.” 

She answered Bichard’s look with a laugh. “ Trouble ! 
No, indeed. I’m only too glad to have you all down here ; ” 
and she bustled off in her cheery fashion. 

Mabel refreshed herself and the children with a plentiful 
ablution, and by the time she had them all in order, aunt 
Sophy reappeared with the tea-tray. Lily gayly proceeded 
to arrange the table. Such nice creamy biscuits, such dishes 
of fruit, and for Tessy a little broiled bird. Aunt Sophy 
took the head of the table, and soon made them all feel at 
home. Her warm heart and cordial manner were wonder- 
fully enjoyable. 

The next morning Bichard left them, though not without 
n-any charges concerning Tessy and the two others, who 
?Gomed disposed to run wild. 

“ Nerer you mind,” said aunt Sophy. “I’ve managed 
them many a time before. As for Tessy, she’ll be so plump 
and rosy on your return that you will hardly know her. 
And now, little ones, kiss brother Dick good by, and come 
down to the kitchen with me,” 

7 


74 


IN TKUST, OR 


After his duty was fairly performed, and no pleading eye* 
met his at every turn, Richard was all impatience. Delay 
and disappointment had strengthened his desire for Ada. 
Now that he had a right to shut out every other thought, he 
was almost surprised to find her so dear, so well beloved. 

The party had gone to Newport. It was late in the after- 
noon when he arrived, and just allowing himself time for 
tho briefest toilet, he hurried down to the spacious hotel 
parlor. Summoning a servant, he despatched him with a 
message for Miss Townley. 

The reply was that Miss Townley had gone out, but Mrs. 
Taylor would be down presently. 

x\da had not received his letter, then, or she would surely 
have been the first to greet him. He paced impatiently up 
and down the room, glanced at the gay groups among the 
shrubbery, and found it hard work to restrain himself. 
After what seemed to him an interminable while, Mrs. Tay- 
lor entered, and greeted him cordially, yet with perceptible 
constraint. 

“I am so sorry Ada is out ; but Mrs. Ashley was anxious 
for some sea-coast views, and the day was so fine for visiting 
them, they thought it best not to wait.” 

“ Do you know if she heard from me this morning ? ” 

“ I was out until nearly noon. I do not think she ex- 
pected you to-day,” was Mrs. Taylor’s non-committal reply. 

It was some comfort for Richard to believe the mails at 
fault. He walked up and down the balcony with Mrs. Tay- 
lor, and as the best means of quieting his mind, related the 
events of the last few weeks, and questioned her concerning 
(heir White Mountain trip. Then Mr. Ashley came saun- 
tering towards them, and Richard’s first eager question was, 

Where did you leave the ladies ? ” 

“ Me ? 0, I have not seen them since about four. They 

have quite deserted me, I assure you; won by a fast horse ; ” 
and Mr. Ashley laughed with the easy grace of a man of ths 

world. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


75 


“Mr. Livingston, an old friend, has taken them out,” 
explained Mrs. Taylor. 

Eichard’s disappointment deepened almost to disapproval. 

‘‘ Don’t look so sober, doctor,” began Mr. Ashley. 
“ When you see those magnificent grays, you will not won- 
der. Everybody is frantic about Livingston’s turn-out, 
especially the women.” 

At this juncture the supper bell rang. “ Since we have 
to play the roll of the deserted, we may as well do it with a 
good grace,” said Mr. Ashley, gayly. “ Accept my arm, 
Mary, Come, doctor.” 

“ Perhaps we had better wait,” suggested Mrs. Taylor, as 
she noticed the expression of Eichard’s face. 

“Nonsense. You remember Mr. Livingston’s description 
of the beach by moonlight, and Ada’s saying the only time 
to ride there was after sundown. They will not be back 
these three hours. Don’t look so disconsolate, doctor ; this 
Newport bewitches the women.” 

Eichard followed them reluctantly, wondering if there 
could ever come a time when he would be so indifferent to 
hts wife’s absence. Mr. and Mrs. Ashley were certainly a 
most fashionably independent couple. Each placed implicit 
confidence in the other, and neither was jealously inclined. 
Perhaps, too, love had some powerful rivals in both hearts, 
and kept uncomplainingly in the background. Mrs. Ashley 
was careful of her own and her husband’s honor ; Mr. Ash- 
ley was proud of having his wife admired, and not pecjuliarlj 
sensitive in any respect. 

The moments after supper seemed intolerably long. De- 
clining Mr. Ashley’s invitation to a game of billiards, he 
watched the throngs promenading the walks, half listened 
to the music, and at length, weary of the gay scene, wan- 
dered down the avenue, taking one of the paths leading to 
the beach. Disappointed and restless, he was anxious for 
the time to pass ; and never did seconds seem more leaden. 
He wMked on in a vague hope of meeting the carriage, and 


76 


IN TKUST, OK 


when he turned to retrace his steps, found ho had gone 
much farther than he intended. 

He came up to the long balcony, flushed and anxious ; but 
the first sight that met his eyes restored immediate com- 
posure. There stood Ada Townley in the beauty ana bril- 
liancy of an exquisite evening dress, her round, white arms 
gleaming with costly bracelets, her face one dazzle of anima- 
tion. No sign of expectation or longing, no glance down 
the walks for the coming of some one dearer than all these. 
Was he dearer ? If so, how could she stand there in care- 
less grace, and talk to that tall, handsome man, who did noi 
attempt to conceal his admiration ? A fiery-pointed pain 
shot through Richard’s heart ; jealousy first, then dreary 
despair. 

He was almost beside her before she raised her eyes. 
There was a light in them he did not like. She held out 
her hand, and said, cordially enough, — 

“ 0 Dr. Bertrand ! Mrs. Taylor was quite distressed 
about your sudden disappearance. I think I have been 
home nearly an hour — is it not ? ” and turning, she intro- 
duced her companion. 

Richard responded courteously ; then, in a low but author- 
itative tone, said, “ May I ask the favor of your company a 
few moments ? ” 

She seemed irresolute at first, but the pressure of his 
hand upon her arm was not to be mistaken. “Excuse me,” 
she said in an undertone, meant only for Mr. Livingston ; 
“ old friends have a claim on one’s indulgence ; ” but softly 
breathed as it was, Richard’s quick ear caught it. His iu- 
taitions were in an electric state, and biting his lips to keep 
back the rush of anger, he led her down the walk. For 
some time neither spoke. 

“ Did you receive a letter from me yesterday or this 
morning ? ” he demanded at length. 

“Yes, last night.” Her manner was cool and careless. 

“ You must have expected me thenf^ 0 Ada ! ” 


DU. BERTRAND'S HOUSEHOLD. 


7? 


“No, I confess I did not. You have disappointed m® 
too often, of late, for me to believe until I saw you. I was 
not sure but some one would conveniently fall ill at the last 
moment.” 

Her heartlessness roused him, and he said, rather 
sternly, — 

“ Do you imply that I sought an excuse for not joining 
you earlier ? ” 

“ I don’t imply anything. I know that no request of 
mine has found favor in your sight for a long while. Every 
one seems to have a stronger claim on you than I ? ” 

A new fire sprang up in the soft hazel eyes, and outraged 
love asserted itself. In a tone steady with deep power, he 
said, — 

“ Since you think me capable of subterfuge or wilful de- 
ceit, and can no longer depend on my affection, you cannot 
wish to marry a man so lost to honor and truth. I release 
you from a promise that must have grown irksome.” 

It was foolish, doubtless, but he expected even then to 
see her disclaim these cruel assertions, look up with implor- 
ing eyes, and give some sign of love. Vain hope ! Care- 
lessly beautiful, indifferent to any past memory, she an- 
swered, with a haughty inclination of the head, ‘ As you 
please.” 

He led her to the balcony, wished her good night, and 
turned away, feeling she was already half won by Howard 
Livingston. In that first moment he thought calmly of her 
being another’s. He pitied himself as if it had been a third 
person, so little did he realize the great shadow fallen upon 
him. 

Ada turned to Mr. Livingston with an easy grace, and 
as if some explanation was needed, said, nonchalantly, — 

“ For two years I have been engaged to Dr. Bertrand — 
a girlish fancy that I have outlived in the last six months. 
We have just dissolved the bond.” 

He bowed with a pleased look. There was nothing foi 
7 * 


78 


IN TRUST, OR 


her to regret in the exchange. Of late, she had felt the 
position Dr. Bertrand’s wife must fill was very little to hei 
liking. Here was a man to whom she would be^f?’s^ always, 
superior to her old lover in those points she cared most for. 
She could retain her position in society ; no troublesome 
domestic details would ever be forced upon her, and life 
would prove a perfect round of pleasure. Although she 
inwardly congratulated herself on her improved prospects^ 
she gave a pitying thought to Richard, and said to her- 
self, “ I could have made him very happy if he had not been 
so set upon those foolish whims.” She was relieved to learn 
that he left early the next morning. 

Mrs. Ashley congratulated her openly. She had never 
cordially approved of Dr. Bertrand, her theory being that 
it was much more sensible to love a rich man than a poor 
one. Since affairs had proved so obstinate, she had been 
secretly favoring Mr. Livingston, quite determined to have 
him for a brother-in-law. 

Mrs. Taylor kissed her, and said, — 

“ I am heartily glad, my dear. You never could have 
given satisfaction in such a family. It would have been 
worse than marrying a widower.” 

Two weeks later Ada Townley went home the affianced 
of Howard Livingston. 

In the mean while the party at Cape May were well cared 
for. It took but one day for Lilian and Archie to recom- 
mence the old life laid down the preceding autumn. To 
them there seemed no change, except the few strange 
boarders, and the inches Tom and Dora had grown in a 
year. Aunt Sophy took entire charge of them, and Mabel 
was left to the undisturbed care of Tessy. She felt keenly 
the alteration her father’s death had made, and would con- 
tinue to make all the coming years. She had grown oldei 
in those brief months. Care came to her not as a burden, 
but a ’jortion of life that it was her duty to accept willingly. 
She n issed Richard sadly, and tried to resign him with th« 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


79 


pure unselfishness of her nature, knowing the time must 
soon come when another would be first and best to him. 

Tessy’s days had been rounded into perfection by a ride 
down to the steamboat landing. But on Saturday both 
horses had gone out with the large carriage, and Mr. Shel- 
don’s pony, which Tom often drove, was busy also. The 
child’s eyes filled with tears of disappointment. 

“ Why, we don’ : expect any one,” Mabel said, cheerily. 

I know it, but it seems like a little piece of Dick to see 
the steamboat and all the people. 0 Bel ! can’t we walk.” 

“No, darling, not that distance. Bichard would scold ug 
for such a crazy step.” 

“ What is the matter. Snowdrop ? ” said stout, good- 
natured Mrs. Chesterton, coming up the steps, and patting 
Tessy’s head. Mabel briefly explained the difl&culty. 

“ Mr. Chesterton has had Mr. Grey’s old Hero and the 
little wagon. I do not believe he has taken them back, and 
you may as well use them as not,” the lady said. 

Mabel thanked her, but declined. Tessy’s eyes over- 
flowed. Mrs. Chesterton found her husband, and brought 
him to the balcony. 

“ Why, yes. Miss Bertrand ; take them by all means. I 
told iVIr. Grey I’d be home about dusk ; so he won’t expect 
his horse until that time. He’s so lazy you need not feel a 
bit afraid. He couldn’t run if he tried.” 

Aunt Sophy insisted as well. Bell and Tessy were lifted 
in, and drove off in triumph, the little one’s face full of 
intense satisfaction. The eager eyes and flushed cheeks 
gave Mabel a strange presentiment of something like evil. 
She begged to go faster, that they might be in time to see 
the passengers land. 

“ What is the matter, Tessy ? Don’t get so excited ; no 
friend of ours is coming,” Mabel said, gently. 

“ But some day Bichard will come.” Then, after a long 
pause, in which her eyeg wandered over the crowd, she gave 
% rapturous cry, and grasping her sister’s hand, exclaimed, 


80 


IN TEtrST, OR 


“He has come* Look! there he is, our own very Dick! 
He is waving his handkerchief,” and Tessy nodded in 

reply. 

“ Why, I don’t see him,” returned Mabel, slowly. “ Tessy, 
you must he dreaming.” 

“ He is leaning over the edge of the rail. There, now 
he’s gone.” * 

“ I have not had a glimpse of him.” 

Tessy’s eyes wandered over the throng in curious expec- 
tancy, and grew perceptibly grave. Then the whole face 
was overspread with sunshine, and following her glance, 
Mabel saw Richard. 

He pushed through the mass, and came forward, his eyes 
bright with earnest affection. Tessy reached out her arms 
to him, and was kissed again and again. 

“Why did you think of coming for me?” he asked, in 
surprise. 

“ 0, we do every day,” was Tessy’s joyous answer. 

“ Because you expect me ? ” and he laughed. 

“ Not quite. And Bel didn’t want to come to-day, 
but — ” 

“ You made her, I suppose, little tyrant. You look im- 
proved already. Are you not going to offer me a seat ? or 
do you purpose to have me walk ? ” 

She sprang up, and as soon as he was settled, Aestled in 
his lap. Mabel bestowed wondering glances on him, and 
asked for the third or fourth time if he was well. 

“ Entirely so.” He put the reins in Tessy’s hands, hold- 
ing his own over them, and bending down, whispered, “ I 
was not wanted at Newport. I have come back to be ail 
yours.” 

The words gave her a pang as she took in their full 
meaning. Yet she hardly knew what an aching heart the 
tender manner to Tessy covered. 

They were all overjoyed to have him back so unexpect- 
fdly. Lily and Archie had quantities, of adventures to re* 


DR. RERTRAND’s household. 


81 


late. Indeed, Mabel scarcely had a look at him until thej 
were all sent off to bed, after he had, as a special favor, 
sung Tessy to sleep. Then he bade Mabel find a shawl, 
and come to walk on the beach with him. 

The tide was going out, leaving the shining sand smooth 
as a floor. The dim and lonely reaches of the broad ocean 
flowed onward with a sad, mighty pulsation, the slow, regu- 
lar swells breaking into a rhythmic melody — a grand chant 
of ceaseless sorrow. Along the western sky sailed fleecy 
islands in a sea of wondrous azure. Above them were hosts 
of golden stars, the crown of the summer night. It was 
just the hour for a fond confidence, and Richard opened his 
heart to the fair girl blossoming into pure and lovely 
womanhood. Her tender sympathy soothed him immeasu- 
rably. He said calmly, but not in despair, that his dream 
of love was over. Henceforth he was to fill the position of 
elder brother in its truest, widest sense. There was nothing 
to come between him and his duty now; no temptation to 
lure him from that precious household. 

It was well, perhaps, that Mabel did not see all. Alone 
in his room, with the sorrowful midnight stars for watchers, 
he laid aside the mask from his heart, and glanced at it, as 
he only might do for many a weary day to come. He did 
not so much regret Ada ; he seemed to understand now the 
wants and trivialities of her nature, the petty trials to which 
she would have continually subjected him. He was content 
to have her choose another. But the keen sense of desola- 
tion after he had shrouded the corse of a sweet first love, 
and silently borne it to a place of sepulture, was what re- 
mained with him, and left a nameless pain. As in death no 
faults are remembered, so he recalled the earlier days of 
their acquaintance, when love was haloed with the rose-hue 
of newness. Could any after passion be so sweet ? He 
said then for him there could be no second spring. The 
grave in his heart could never outgrow its greenness. 
felt how truly, how tenderly, he had loved. 


82 


JN TRUST, OR 


And so came one of life’s sorest lessons to Richard Ber* 
trand. Was it to teach him patience, forbearance ? He 
took it in that wise, quite humbly, as a little child. He re- 
membered who had said, “ All things shall work together 
for good.” Others had walked in shaded pathways, and 
found rest at last. And for him, hereafter, love and dutj 
would be as one word. * 


I 


UR. Bertrand’s household. 




CHAPTER X. 

So many feet that day by day 
Still wander from the fold astray. 

Golden Legend. 

As it was impossible for Richard to remain at Cape May, 
ho compromised with the children by promising to come 
otice a week during their stay. Tessy improved as if by 
magic. When September arrived, aunt Sophy begged for 
another month, but Mabel longed to be again at home. Mrs. 
Hali and Ann were delighted with their return. Robert 
came back in a high state of satisfaction, and had plenty 
of adventures to relate to the younger ones. Yet there was 
something in his light-heartedness that rather pained than 
pleased. Excitement and enjoyment appeared to be his 
continual study. He possessed the brilliant and dangerous 
qualities that make men favorites of society and slaves to 
temptation. Easy and generous they are called, yet many 
a weary burden do they lay upon others. 

Richard could only pray for him when they separated. 
A.nd in his frequent letters he strove to keep up an interest 
in home affairs for the absent one. Mabel, who had given 
lip school, devoted herself assiduously to the household, and 
endeavored to make all around her happy. Love reigned 
perfect among them. 

It was a quiet, uneventful winter. Christmas brought 
aunt Sophy and the cousins. Yet the day was not gone 
through without tears. There was a missing voice, a place 
unfilled — memories infinitely tender and infinitely sad. 

Ada Townley’e marriage occurred at this period. It as* 


84 


IN TRUST, OR 


sisied Richard to recover his mental tone somewhat He 
no longer asked himself, in weak moments, if he had not 
been hasty or unjust. No good, faithful, affectionate man 
can easily tear up the tendrils that have twined around his 
very life. He will not in a moment forget the hope that was 
to have made glad all his future years. He may say, •* 1 
will dream nc more,” but in lonely hours 

“ The spirit that no exorcism can bind 

will rise from the deepest grave. But Richard’s sorrow 
strengthened and ennobled him. He did not look on the 
passion dreams of his young summer with hard, scornful re- 
gret. Duty and sacrifice were no self-scourging bonds whose 
chain clanked with every movement. He had been “ wounded 
in the house of a friend,” but he did not forget there were 
others to heal. Glancing down the days yet to come, he saw 
himself the ready helper, the comforter in trouble, and the 
sharer of others’ joys. He would bless their marriage vows 
when the birdlings left the old home nest. And if, set tne 
last, he was left alone by the fireside, he would be content 
with whatever God should send him. 

They went on evenly again until one March night. In the 
very room where their father had gayly frolicked with them 
that last dear evening, and kissed them with tenderest affec- 
tion, they sat recounting incidents of his love, words they 
treasured up like fine gold, caresses 

“ Dear as remembered kisses after death.” 

There was no storm now. For several days it had been 
lovely and spring-like, an earnest of the country beyond, 
where he had gone to be “forever with the Lord.” And 
time which sanctifies all griefs, would soften this. By and by 
they would come back to this night as a precious remem- 
brance. 

The golden sun of May streamed into the breakfast-room, 
where they were all congregated one pleasant morning 


DR. Bertrand's household. 


85 


The meal was about over. Richard sat studying his mem- 
orandum-book, and as Ann brought in the paper, Mabel took 
it until he should be ready. 

“ 0, Riohaid ! ” she exclaimed, with a sudden cry of 
pain, while her bright face faded into ashy paleness. 

“ What is it, Bel ? ” and Richard started up in alarm. 

“It’s so terrible! But it can’t be true. There be 
some mistake ; ” and her trembling finger pointed out the 
paragraph. 

Richard’s brow contracted with more than sorrow, with 
shame, and a flush of indignation, as he read an account of 
a disgraceful riot in New Haven, in which several students 
had been concerned. Foremost among them, indeed, the 
most daring and lawless, was Robert Bertrand. He had 
even discharged a pistol, and slightly wounded the policeman 
who arrested him. No wonder Richard shivered. The hand 
of Providence alone had kept his brother from being a mur- 
derer. And Robert in a prison cell, a criminal 1 

“It surely cannot be so bad,” he said, at length, loth to 
believe such an account, and longing to comfort Mabel. “ I 
must go to New Haven immediately.” 

“ Is Robert ill ? ” asked Lily, looking up from the remnant 
of her toast, in wide-eyed wonder. 

“ No, but in serious trouble. Perhaps it will be best not 
to discuss it until we know all the circumstances. So you 
must be good children, and not fret Mabel with idle ques- 
tions while I am gone.” 

Mabel rose and tried to regain her composure. Mrs. Hall’s 
entrance checked Archie’s exclamations. Lily took up her 
neglected French, and went out on the balcony to study. 

“ When will you go ? ” Mabel inquired, following Richard 
to the office. 

“ Just as soon as I can. There is a train at noon, I think.” 

“ I wonder what will be done.” 

“ Robert will be expelled, if nothing worse. I must bring 
him home.” There was a little tremble in Richard’s voice. 

6 


86 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ And we thouglit lie was doing so nicely. 0, how could 
he!^’ 

“I ought to have looked after him more closely. There 
are so many temptations for such a nature as his.” 

Mabel went to prepare the children for school. In answer 
to their questions, she bade them be patient, and kissed the 
shadowed faces with strange tenderness. Then she sought 
refuge in her daily duties. Richard made a few necessary 
calls, and ran in to say good by. At sight of his troubled 
face, her firmness gave way. 

“ Don’t cry, dearest,” he said, gently. 

She wanted to ask him to be tender with Robert ; but it 
seemed so like a reflection on the kind heart that was always 
merciful, that she could not utter it. When he was gone, 
she almost persuaded herself it was a troubled dream. 

It was sharp enough reality to Richard — the more bitter 
because he had hoped much for his brother of late. Robert 
had spent the Christmas holidays with some friends, but his 
letters had been regular, his demands for money moderate, 
and his progress, as he had recorded it, very commendable. 
But Richard knew the fatal tendency of Robert’s mind to 
evade any disagreeable truth ; and a chill foreboding filled 
his heart. Alas ! his worst fears were more than realized. 

Robert was still in confinement, sullen and uncommunica- 
tive. Shame added to his reticence. His face was haggard, 
and retained traces of his late debauch. It was plainly evi- 
dent that intoxication had been one cause. As nothing could 
be elicited in his present state, Richard determined to go to 
the college authorities. 

The president received him with unaffected sympathy and 
respect. His own career in that institution had been highly 
satisfactory, and gained him many warm friends. Condemn- 
ing his brother was a blow they all felt most sorry to inflict. 
It was a sad story. The party had been drinking and gam- 
bling until a late hour, when, sallying forth with boisterous 
merriment, they committed several acts of wanton mischief. 


DR. Bertrand’s HOusEHOiiD. 


87 


ending by assaulting one of the officers who attempted to 
arrest them. 

“ I confess,” said the kind-hearted president, “ Robert’s 
course has never been praiseworthy. His abilities are of the 
highest order. If he chose he could distance any one in his 
class. But from the first he has allied himself with the in- 
dolent and insubordinate. I’m not sure but suspending him 
last spring would have been a good lesson. But he was so 
very penitent, that, under the circumstances, we concluded 
to forgive him.” 

“ Last spring ? ” gasped Richard. “ Then this is not his 
first offence ? ” 

“ Nor the second,” was the rejoinder. “ He had been rep- 
rimanded before last March, when he committed an act of 
such flagrant disobedience, it was judged best to suspend 
him for a while. I was writing to your father when the an- 
nouncement of his death reached us. After a long conver- 
sation with Robert, we concluded to try him again. I thought 
him a good deal improved after his return, and hoped his 
grief would prove a permanent benefit. Your father possessed 
my entire esteem and confidence, and for the sake of his 
family I trusted Robert had decided on a better course. 
Up to Christmas of the present year his conduct appeared 
very satisfactory, but I am afraid it was a superficial refor- 
mation. Many depredations have been committed to which 
it seemed impossible to find a clew ; but it appears now that 
Robert headed this party. I spare you details ; it is sufficient 
to know in what it has culminated. Believe, my dear young 
friend, that you have my warmest sympathy.” 

Richard felt sick at heart. The long-continued deceit that 
had unblushingly braved a dead father, and while running 
at riot had preserved a semblance of honor, filled him with 
dismay. How could one so young in years, and with Robert’s 
home associations, become so perfect an adept in duplicity ? 

“ It will be better for him to leave the city,” suggested 
the president, kindly. “ His associates are bad, his habits 


88 


IN TRUST, OR 


expensive and irregular. He needs an entire change of life 
and pursuits. If you could lead him to turn his attention 
to some active mercantile business, he might do better.’^ 

Richard went away sorrowfully, stunned by the sad 
story. Could he have been more watchful ? The attempts 
to gain his brother’s confidence had been met with specious 
falsehoods ; even the dear father’s trust wickedly betrayed. 
How dark the future looked ! He hardly dared hope, but 
he prayed fervently for strength to perform his whole duty. 

The next morning he visited Robert again. Kindly, but 
firmly, he demanded the whole truth, and a list of Robert’s 
debts, stating his intention of paying them immediately, 
so that his departure might be honorable in this respect. 
No reproaches passed his lips, less for fear of exasperat- 
ing Robert than from pity for his own sore heart. 

Robert paced the small room in silent attention, his 
mind divided between a desire to openly defy Richard, and 
shake off all authority, and the benefit of a partial conces- 
sion. Penitent he certainly was not, and was more angry 
at having his misdeeds brought to light, than ashamed of 
committing them. Of the trouble and disgrace he had 
brought upon the family he scarcely thought. 

“ To remain here is simply impossible,” Richard said, 
when he found his brother in no haste to reply. “ Give me 
your assistance therefore, and let us finish as speedily as 
we can.” 

“ It’s my own money,” was the ungracious answer. “ If 
I choose to spend it, it’s no one’s business.” 

“ It’s some one’s business to see it paid,” was the grave 
rejoinder. 

“Don’t grudge a fellow what belongs to him. You suO' 
ceeded to a ready-made practice, so you can’t complain.” 

“ Not wholly for myself, either. You know there was net 
sufficient income to support the family without sacrificing the 
house.” 

“ What should you consider its value ? ” and Robert paused 
in his walk. 


DK. BEKTRANB’s HOUSEHCLD. 


89 


“It is worth from twelve to fifteen thousand, I suppose ; 
but in regard, I rate it more highly than that. Every year 
it will go on increasing in value.” 

“ I’ve a proposition to make. Will you buy me out ? ” 

Richard thought a moment. It would assuredly lessen 
\ s trouble and anxiety ; he could foresee there would hardly 
13 a peaceful moment until Robert had wasted his inherit- 
ance. On the other hand it would be snapping the link that 
gave him the only remaining power over his brother. Could 
it be right to purchase his ease by a prospect of greater 
temptation for Robert ? 0, how he longed for strength and 

wisdom ! 

“ No,” he answered, slowly, “ not until you are nearly or 
q^uite of age.” 

An angry light shot up in Robert’s eyes, but he found 
himself mastered. Sinking into his former sullen apathy, 
he tossed some notes across the table. Bills for oyster sup- 
pers, champagne, and cigars, carriage hire, and a schedule 
of various sums of borrowed money. Richard looked at the 
aggregate in dismay, and then asked if there could possibly 
be any more. 

“A trifie perhaps — fifty dollars or so.” 

“ 0 Robert ! How could you be so foolishly, wickedly 
extravagant ? ” It was the first indignant outburst Richard 
had uttered. 

“I’m not asking you to pay it,” was the harsh rejoinder. 
“ Young men might have lived on nothing in your day, and 
enjoyed it ; but it’s not my style. Don’t make a fuss : it is 
not necessary for me to go through college ; so what I spend 
in one way I shall save in another ; ” and he gave a heart- 
less laugh. 

Further conversation was useless. Richard went about 
the business in hand with a depressed soul, yet was relieved 
to have it finished. He settled the fine with which Robert’s 
misdemeanor had been punished, and then turned his steps 
aomeward, taking with him the sympathy of many true hearts. 

8 ^ 


90 


IN TRUST ; OR 


More than once he asked himself what was to be done with 
his brother. As he glanced at the face still handsome, de- 
spite its moody expression, and thought of talents that might 
make him an honor to his family, he felt that he could not 
give him up without an effort. He must be more watchful, 
more prayerful, and strive to fulfil the duty laid upon him. 
Alas ! thorns beset the path in too many directions. 


DB. BEBTBAND’s household. 


91 


CHAPTEK XI. 

And if along with these should come 
The man I held as half divine, 

Should strike a sudden hand in mine, 

And ask a thousand things of home. 

Tennyson. 

They were nearing New York, when Kobert started from 
his indifferent mood, saying, suddenly, — 

“ I’m not going home, Dick.” 

“ Not going home r ” was the astonished rejoinder. 

“ No ; my nerves are not equal to facing Guilford just 
now, to say nothing of an eager and excited crowd of friends, 
all anxious to learn the cause of my sudden arrival in their 
midst ; ” and in spite of his nonchalance, a deep flush crossed 
his face. 

“ I would rather have you.” 

“ No, Dick ; you’ll be more comfortable without me. Let 
me go to aunt Sophy’s ; otherwise I shall stay in New York 
and try my luck.” 

The relief it promised made Richard doubt its propriety ; 
but he found Robert was determined not to meet Mr. Guil- 
ford at present. Cape May, at this season, had fewer temp- 
tations than a city ; so he acquiesced, and the brothers 
parted with some semblance of affection. 

Richard went to Mr. Guilford immediately, and relat- 
ed the whole story. The lawyer was not much surprised, 
and, after discussing the matter, proposed to visit Robert 
at his aunt’s, and learn what course of life he intended tg 
pursue. 


d2 


IN TBrST, OR 


“ If you only would,” the young man said, gratefully. 

“ I will not believe any son of your father can go so utterly 
astray. We may save him yet.” 

“ Thank you ; ” and Richard wrung his hand warmly. 

A gloom fell over the household at the knowledge of 
Robert’s misconduct. 

“ It seems almost as if some one was dead,” Lily said, in 
a hushed voice ; and the two younger ones clung to Mabel, 
as if she could shield them from any like danger. To Rich- 
ard she was more considerate than ever, striving in daily 
kindnesses to bear a part of his burden. 

If Richard cherished a hope of Mr. Guilford’s influence, 
it was completely crushed on that gentleman’s return. He 
found Robert haughty and unmanageable, alike insensible 
to threats or remonstrances. What step to take next per- 
plexed them both ; but Robert fortunately solved the difii- 
culty by falling in with the captain of a trading vessel, who 
needed a clerk, and shipping immediately. The voyage would 
last four months. 

By degrees they settled to their former pleasant life. The 
garden was a source of unfailing interest to Bel and Lily, 
and Richard took up botany with them. Mabel’s tastes were 
mostly domestic ; but Lily flew hither and thither with the 
airy grace of a humming-bird. Richard laughingly declared 
it was a marvel she ever knew anything perfectly. And so, 
while the elder trained the flowers, the younger stood over 
them with her book. 

“ Office hours,” as the children termed the lime from din- 
ner until evening, were a great delight to them all. When 
Richard was not occupied with patients, they claimed him 
relentlessly. He enjoyed it also. In the midst of the merry 
group he seemed to quaff the sweet reward of his labors, and 
forget the cares. 

They were on the lowest terrace, one July afternoon, 
watching Archie’s attempt at managing a pretty sail-boat. 
He was to acquit himself creditably before Richard’s eyes, 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


93 


on a short voyage, ere he could be allowed to “ dare the 
treacherous ocean,” as Lily drolly termed it. They laughed 
at his mishaps in tacking, and cheered him when successful ; 
but bringing the boat safely into port was a rather difficult 
achievement for the young navigator. He had barely suc- 
ceeded, when a frank, hearty voice, just above them, ex- 
claimed, — 

“ ‘ Come and see for yourself how I manage at the head 
of a family, and partake of an old chum’s hospitality.’ 
Wasn’t that the invitation?” 

They all turned, and saw a fine-looking man, about Rich- 
ard’s age, with a genial face, now crossed by a mirthful smile 
at the astonishment his unlooked-for appearance created. 
To the elder ones he was not quite a stranger. 

“ Why, Philip Gregory ! If it wasn’t a faultlessly clear 
day, I should suppose you rained down ; ” and Richard shook 
his friend’s hand warmly. 

“ No, there’s nothing supernatural or unnatural about me. 
I came like a Christian, and a citizen of the nineteenth cen- 
tury, rang at your hall door, and was ushered in by a 
servant ; deposited my travelling-bag on the floor ; and when 
she said you were all down here, watching Master Archie try 
his new boat, I thought I would treat you to a surprise. If 
you don’t believe me, go and look at my little black bag, 
marked P. G., in white letters.” 

Lilian laughed outright, and then blushed. 

“ My dear Philip, a thousand welcomes ! Where have you 
come from ? and are you not tired ? ” 

“ So tired I long to throw myself under that tree yonder,” 
was the answer, in an affectation of breathless fatigue. “ But 
first, please dc the honors of a householder, and introduce 
me to your family. This surely isn’t little Bel ? ” and he 
held out his hand, as if quite convinced of her identitjr, not- 
withstanding his implied doubt. 

“ Lveii so. And this is Lilian ; and this, the baby of 
your day, though they have all been babies in ycur day, 1 


94 


IN TRUST, OR 


think ; ” and Richard folded his hands around Tessy’s sofi 
face. 

“ Six years since I have seen one of you ! And Dick, old 
friend, don’t you feel quite venerable, with two such tall, 
blooming daughters by your side ? ” 

Mabel blushed this time. Indeed, Mr. Gregory’s glance 
expressed as much admiration as it was possible for a look 
to reveal. 

“Don’t I do credit to the whole race as 'paterfamilias?'' 
asked Richard, straightening up. “ Shall we go to the 
house ? ” 

“ Not if you’ll let me have that seat I mentioned away 
back at the beginning of our conversation ; ” and with an 
easy grace he threw himself on the grass, leaning his shoul- 
der against the old elm tree. 

A call from the youthful sailor attracted Richard a mo- 
ment. Returning, he seated himself by his friend, and drew 
Tessy down on his knee. 

“ I’m afraid I’m in some one’s place,” said Mr. Gregory, 
picking up a book. “ Here’s Kane’s Expedition, miles and 
miles away from the Polar Sea. Who is so frosty-minded 
this weather ? ” 

“ I was reading it,” rejoined Lily. “ It is a good cool 
book for a hot day.” 

“ Then I suppose at midwinter you regale yourself with 
Ce-ntral Africa, the Tropics, or Mount Vesuvius.” 

They all laughed. 

“ I can hardly realize it, Richard,” his friend began, in a 
softened tone. “After rambling from land to land, it is de- 
lightful to sit down in the shade of the tree where one talked 
life over with his first friend. I never had any home in those 
days, or in any days, save when I came here;” and he sighed 
a little. 

Archie advanced on the scene of action, or rather repose, 
dressed in a pretty sailor’s suit of blue and white, fashioned 
by Mabel’s dainty fingers, and underwent the honors of an 
introduction with commendable self-possession. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


95 


How well I remember my first vacation here ! ” Mr 
Gregory said, with animation. “Richard used to take me 
out on the river, and taught me to row and manage a sail, 
though I was much older than this young man. I considered 
them marvellous exploits.” 

“Where has your memory gone?” laughed Richard. 
“ You were fifteen, I think, and Archie is past twelve.” 

“ I have the remembrance of being an awkward, over- 
grown boy, frightened half to death by the appearance of 
two little girls in white dresses. I had an idea this was a 
sort of Aladdin’s palace, and would vanish if I spoke a loud 
word.” 

“ And how mother petted you into courage,” Richard 
added. 

“ Yes, and the happy summers, until six years ago, the 
last dear time I made one of your number. And do you rec- 
ollect, Mabel, — Miss Bertrand, I mean, — how I took you 
out sailing one evening, and staid so long that — everybody 
thought we were wrecked ? ” 

Mabel knew what the sudden pause and the “ everybody ” 
meant — the picture of her father, standing on the lowest 
step, and gazing up the river ; the fervent ejaculation and 
fond kiss. That name was a sweet note in their home mu- 
sic ; so she filled up the pause with tenderness, saying, — 

“ And how glad papa was to find us safe ! ” 

He knew by the tone that he would be allowed hie old 
place in the household, and to share their sorrowful memories, 
as he had in past days partaken of their joys. His voice 
was low with emotion, as he answered, — 

“ He was so good and kind. Not only then, but all times.” 

“ Yes,” Richard rejoined. “-Each day we learn what we 
lost with him.” 

“ You hardly let us miss him,” Lily said, in a soft whisper, 
as her fingers crept through Richard’s hair. 

It seemed so natural then to go over those sad days with 
one who had loved their cherished dead ! As Mabel listened 


96 


IN TRUST, OR 


to the sympathy that partook of divine trust, as W6ll a? 
earthly affection, her heart warmed strangely towards Idiilip 
Gregory. 

Afterwards, when she and the children had gone to the 
house, the friends took up the years that had fallen between 
since they last saw each other’s faces. At school and col- 
lege they had been chosen friends ; but Philip’s long absence 
in Europe, attending an invalid and querulous grandfather, 
had broken in upon their intimacy. Letters had missed, 
rendering correspondence uncertain ; and though Philip had 
mentioned his return a year previous, this was their first 
meeting. Eichard related the circumstances of his father’s 
death in simple, earnest language, that showed his deep 
feeling. 

“ This was why you gave up the journey to Europe ? ’ 
Philip’s eyes asked another question, for his friend had onci. 
announced his intended marriage, with all a lover’s ardor. 

“ Yes.” And Eichard briefly went over the episode of 
the past summer. He felt the fond clasp of the hand, more 
truly comforting than words could have been just then. 

“ And now your story ? ” he said, when he. had finished. 

The childhood that had been happy to Eichard was spent 
by his friend in a lonely house, with a morose, unsocial 
old man. The first visit to Dr. Bertrand’s opened Philip’s 
heart to a new and wonderful world. Not only friendship, 
but religion, had come to him like a revelation. In this 
house he had learned to know God ; under this very tree he 
had chosen to enter his Master’s vineyard as a worker. 
When his grandfather heard of this resolve, his anger was 
fierce and deep. The boy should not throw himself away. 
He would have no canting parson among his descendants. 
Immediately after Philip had graduated, he declared his in- 
tention of taking him to Europe. In this extremity the 
young man applied to Dr. Bertrand for advice. It was 
simple and straightforward. His grandfather had reared and 
educated him ; be was the only nea** relative the poor old 


DR. BERTRA^ND’s HOtJSEHOED. 


97 


man had. Tc leave him now would be ingratitude. His 
duty was in “that state of life to which it pleased God to 
call him.” So Philip Gregory took up his cross ; left behind 
him dear friends and sweet hopes ; bore patiently with 
fretful complainings, real and imaginary illnesses ; looking 
steadily forward to the answer of a good conscience as his 
reward, until God should set him free, and open the way for 
a higher service. 

Philip recounted his wanderings in lands rendered sacred 
by song and story. He made no hardship of those exiled 
years. 

“ But I thought you were to inherit his fortune ? ” Bichard 
said, with a little astonishment 

A warm color suffused Philip's face, as he answered, in a 
low tone, “ I could not submit to the conditions.” 

“ What were they ? ” The tone was not curious, but 
pleasantly authoritative. 

“ We never agreed on religious subjects, you know. It 
was the one bitter point between us ; and at last he said, if 
I was resolved to become a clergyman after his death, I 
should never have one penny of his to waste on such nar- 
row, bigoted notions. One day he angrily made a will, dis- 
inheriting me ; and then held it before me, promising to 
destroy it if I would give up my folly. Many a time after- 
wards he placed the temptation before me. Don’t think me 
miserably weak, Bichard, if I confess there were moments 
when I almost yielded. I used to fancy how much good I 
could do with such a fortune ; but the denunciation rang in 
my ears, ‘Woe is me if I preach not the gospel.’ I could 
not sell my birthright for a mess of pottage, even if I was 
fainting on the highway. After a while the subject dropped. 
Sometimes he would threaten to send me awa^, but in his 
weak state he was too much at the mercy of servants. Yet 
the last days were very pleasant. He always regarded me 
with a sort of tyrannical idolatry, much as he had treated my 
poor mother. During the winter at Florence he behaved 
9 


98 


IN TRUST, OR 


with more consideration, and sometimes would follow me 
about with strange, wistful eyes, that seemed to have a ten- 
der regret in their depths. One afternoon he asked me to 
read whatever pleased me. Occasionally I had taken up the 
Bible ; he used at times to like its grand imagery. I turned 
to Isaiah now, and read quite a while. Presently he put out 
his hand, saying he was sleepy. I don’t know how long I 
held it. I was watching one of those glorious sunsets, and 
thinking of the country beyond this glowing sea of purple 
and amethyst. When I turned he looked very peaceful, and 
laying his hand gently down, I went to give some directionp 
to the servants. After the physician came I ordered lights. 
He had not stirred from the position in which I left him ; but 
the soul had fled. What passed at the final moment is known 
only to God. No one dreamed ot* its being so sudden ; but 
I was more than thankful he had died at peace with me.” 

There was a silence of some moments. The shadows un- 
der the tree were lengthening, and crimson, instead of gold, 
was sifted through the leaves. 

“ He was buried at Florence,” Philip resumed. “ Balti- 
more, his native city, profited by his wealth. I have only 
the small portion my father left me ; but it will be more than 
sufficient for my present purposes. I am thankful no duty 
towards him was left undone.” 

Bichard’s clasp of his friend’s hand tightened. How full, 
how compassionate it was, both understood. “ You have 
done nobly,” he said. 

“ Don’t praise me. I have often doubted my own faith, 
my love to Christ. How many times I longed for a good 
talk with your father to set me right ! I meant to come 
to you immediately ; but I met Mr. Chaloner, the old Hilton 
clergyman, in Baltimore, and he persuaded me to begin at 
once. I had not a day to lose ; so I went to studying with 
an earnest purpose, knowing well your faith could trust me 
for all it was impossible to convey in letters. O Dick, my 
friend, how pleasant it is to be here again, and find you un- 
changed amid so many changes ! ” 


DK. BEKXRAND’s HOTJSEHOLt>. 


99 * 


“ And you have begun your true life now,” Richard said, 
with a grave smile. “ May Grod prosper you in it.” 

“ Amen.” The young man’s tone was deep and rever- 
ential. 

“ Where is Mr. Chaloner ? ” Richard asked, presently. 

“ At Rothelan, up the Hudson. The dear old man con- 
siders it an earthly paradise, and has spoken for my vacation : 
but first love had an earlier claim.” 

The dying sun was leaving behind him seas of amber and 
crimson, and a fine white fog came creeping down the river, 
stretching out threads of filmy beauty to catch the rays of 
opaline splendor, and weave them in a thousand fantastic 
shapes. The friends rose, and walked slowly up the garden 
path. Tessy was coming to meet them. 

“ Mabel said I should call you to supper,” she began, shyly, 
looking at Philip from under her long lashes. “ And — it’s 
on the balcony.” 

He put out his hand, but she clung to her brother. 
Glancing up, his eyes took in a charming picture. The bal- 
cony almost hidden, and fragrant with honeysuckle blooms ; 
the table with its snowy drapery, pure white china, and 
cut glass ; two vases of flowers, brilliant and artistically 
arranged ; dishes of luscious fruit ; a plate of choice biscuits, 
just tinged with richest brown, and some dainty cream-cakes. 

This little feast was in special honor of their guest, as the 
late dinner rendered such a meal unnecessary. Richard was 
compelled to leave them shortly afterwards, and Mabel ac- 
cepted her position as hostess with a quiet ease and dignity. 
She had some difficulty in restraining Lily’s high spirits, as 
Mr. Gregory’s lively sallies brought her out almost too 
rapidly. 

They were engrossed with music when Richard returned, 
held captive by Mr. Gregory’s fine performance. His mas- 
terly hand evoked a strange pathos from the full, deep chords, 
or broke into soft, faint murmurs, that floated out on the night 
•ir, to die amid summer sweetness. 


L. iTa 


100 


IN TKUST, OK 


Presently he ibund a well-worn copy of Handel’s “ How 
beautiful are their feet,” and persuaded them into singing it 
with him. Mabel’s voice was soft and clear, like the ripple 
of a forest brook ; Lilian’s contralto, rich and deep. As the 
grand melody swelled out in notes of exquisite beauty, Tessy 
crept up on Richard’s knee, and twining her arms around 
his neck, said, with a quivering sob in her voice, — 

'‘It seems just like Heaven — doesn’t it? 0 Dick, if 
the clouds could only open, so we might see papa for a 
moment ! ” 


DB. Bertrand’s household. 


101 


CHAPTEE XII. 

But who could have expected this, 

When we two drew together first, 

Just for the obvious human bliss. 

To satisfy life’s daily thirst 
With a thing men seldom miss ? 

Robert Brown iso. 

Tr would have been impossible for a guest like Philip 
Grregory not to fraternize thoroughly with the Bertrands, 
even if there had been no old remembrances to fall back 
upon. But now there was a charm in those boyish recollec- 
tions that roused Eichard from his too literal present. 
There were many elements in both natures, that would have 
harmonized under any circumstances ; but with the griefs 
and experiences of the past, and a sense of brotherly love 
that had outlived years of separation, came a still stronger 
regard — the superstructure of a lasting friendship, built on 
an imperishable foundation. To Eichard, an intimate friend 
of his own age, viewing things youngly, and enjoying with 
the ardor and keenness of a rich, overflowing nature, was 
indeed a luxury. Both had made some painful sacrifices, 
had been strengthened with the same faith, and taken up a 
future widely different from their fair, first dreams. Eichard 
was grave and rather calm of temperament — one of those 
souls that accumulate gradually, and wait for a strong central 
fire to rouse their highest emotions. Unselfish in a great 
degree, it was invariably his custom to hope first for others, 
and in some cases take no note of himself — one of those 
spirits oftenest misunderstood. Philip would have been as 
ready for sacrifice or noble deed ; but in him there was a 
certain warmth and desire, a faculty of seizing the golden 
9 ^ 


102 


IN TRUST, OR 


time of enjoyment, of taking present happiness with almost 
boyish ardor. Ilichard needed a salient influence like thh 
to start anew the hopes of his heart. 

In another way he was very attractive to Mabel. He had 
been a visitor in the house when her mother was the presid- 
ing genius ; he remembered the old songs she had sung, the 
flowers she had worn in her hair, and books she used to 
read — little trifles that came back with a forceful ten- 
derness to the girl’s heart. Besides Richard, no one ever 
talked of her mother. To the younger children, their father 
had so thoroughly supplied her place, they rarely looked 
back with the longing regret common to motherless chil- 
dren ; so the peculiar nearness of the relation had been felt 
more exclusively by Mabel. Philip seemed intuitively to 
understand this, and was never at fault with the shy girl. 

Indeed, he seemed almost to have the gift of ubiquity. 
He romped with Tessy, sailed in Archie’s boat, talked, sang, 
went out with Richard, and indulged Lily’s never-failing 
inquiries about the countries and curiosities he had met 
with. For one so apparently thoughtless, she evinced a 
strange fondness for descriptions of travel or natural scenery. 
Everything on this point was devoured with avidity. She 
soon became absorbed in Philip’s brilliant word-pictures. 
He was terse and vigorous, possessing the rare faculty of 
transporting his hearers to the scenes that moved his elo- 
quence, until they fairly beheld with his vision. And when 
he lingered in the glowing orient, or sailed slowly over 
tropical seas, his very voice sank into summer ease and 
indolence, until Lily laughingly declared if she was not so 
deeply interested she should certainly go to sleep. 

Richard insisted that she resembled the skipper’s wife in 
Eothen, “ who had an inquiring mind and an irresistible ten- 
dency to impart her own opinions, and looked upuu her 
guests as a piece of waste intellect, to be carefully tilled,” 
which seemed to amuse Philip exceedingly. 

A week passed rapidly. They had done absolutely 


DR. BERTRAJ^D S HOUSEHOLD. 


103 


nothing, and unanimously declared that Philip must remain 
longer to be entertained. They would sail up the river, and 
spend a day in the woods ; they would go to Passaic Falls, 
and take rides to Eagle Rock, and all places of interest in 
the surrounding country ; and he consented without requir- 
ing much persuasion. Their dinner in the woods was a 
decided success, and their rides wonderfully enjoyable. 
They had not been so happy since their father’s death. 
Richard expanded into new life. 

Philip entered the parlor one evening where Mabel sat 
amusing herself with some old-time ballads. She glanced 
up in surprise. 

“ I thought you had gone with Richard,” she said. 

“ There was a medical association on hand, I believe ; so 
I concluded to return. Where are the children ? ” 

“ Tessy, tired out, is asleep ; the others are in Mrs. Charl- 
ton’s, playing tableaux. Shall we follow them ? ” 

“It is too fine a night to remain in doors. What do you 
say to a moonlight row ? It will be my last chance, for I 
must go to-morrow.” 

“Well,” she said; and running up stairs for her shawl, 
paused a moment to inform the housekeeper. Mr. Gregory 
was waiting for her on the balcony, and they walked slowly 
down the path, drinking in the intense loveliness of the 
night. The moon was at its full. Great golden stars seemed 
melting into blue ether, and white, weird drifts, like phantom 
fleets, floated across the sky. Every tree and shrub seemed 
frosted with liquid silver, and each wave of the river tipped 
with a diamond crest, while the reflexes trembled in pearl 
and azure. The air was fragrant with late roses, honey- 
suckle, and the aromatic odor of the trees. 

Assisting Mabel into the boat, he pushed out so as to 
clear the shallow shore. He liked to linger in these green 
glooms at the river’s edge, and watch the slender spires of 
shrubbery, that, waving to the slightest breeze, sent troops 
^f dancing images over the tremulous reaches of water 


104 


IN TRUST, OR 


Slow, faint swells of the outgoing tide, rhythmical plashes uf 
oars, the voice of a flute, and the far-ofl" echoes of some 
singers, filled all the air with melody. It was as if the drill- 
ing motion carried them to the very verge of fairy-land. 

Did they know whither they were hastening r that in then 
very midst, bounded neither by shining river or shadowy 
shore, lay a land of bliss more potent than those magic realms 
of eld, and he who treads them is a captive as secure as ii 
fay Vivien’s chain had wound him three times about ? No ; 
the full pulsation of both hearts was too new to be inter- 
preted. Philip Gregory’s thoughts had not deepened into 
desire. In coming back to the Bertrands, he fancied he 
took up the old life, and was content. 

During that brief fortnight, a change had come over 
Mabel. The roses, the summer, and herself, all blossomed 
together. She drank in large draughts of quiet, measureless 
joy ; her intuitions became refined, her whole being perme- 
ated with a glow of emotion at once tender and profound. 
Fearlessly she left behind the golden glory of girlhood’s 
untroubled sea, and became a woman. No lingering regret, 
no troublous misgiving concerning the future ! 0 the bless- 

edness of faith that comes to many with their first love ! 
Let us take courage, and thank God that it is so. 

They went far off for a subject of conversation. Some- 
thing about the Nile, clustering palms, fragrant waxen lotus 
blooms, wild Egyptian or Arab melodies that left fthelley’s 
sweet song ringing through her brain ; — 

« “ The wandering airs, they faint 

On the dark, the silent stream ; 

The champak^s odors fall 
Like sweet thoughts in a dream J 
The nightingale’s complaint, 

It dies upon her heart — 


After Philip Gregory turned the boat, an exquisite silence 
fell over them. His heart took in the picture Mabel made, 
to the minutest detail. The willowy form, the stately head. 


DR. BERTEA-ND’s household. 


105 


«rith its luxuriant bands of soft-brown hair rising out of the 
snowy, fleecy wrappings that fell loosely around her shoul- 
ders, the fair face, with tender, drooping eyes, the slender 
hands folded in her lap, — how lovely it all was ! 

Floating on in this idle manner, neither noticed a sail-boat 
that, from dilatory management and lack of favorable wind, 
was making eccentric tacks across the river. Impelled by 
a vigorous hand, it flew shoreward, and met Philip’s bark 
with a violent concussion. Mabel sprang up, and with the 
cry of afiright there was a flutter of a shadowy dress across 
his vision, a scream from the opposite party ; and obeying 
the first impulse, Philip found himself reaching through the 
water with strong arms for something dearer than life. 

“ See what you’ve done now, Jem ! ” said a coarse, but 
not unkindly voice. “ Didn’t I tell you to leave that sail 
alone ? ” 

“ Who thought of a boat being here ? I never saw them 
until we struck,” was the rejoinder. 

Tlie first speaker brought Philip’s boat around, and sprang 
into it, with instructions to his companion to “ hold on for 
life.” As Philip reached the surface, he cried, cheerily, 
“ Here ! ” and stretched out his arms for the burden. There 
was no alternative ; so Philip resigned it, and scrambled in 
himself. 

“ I’m awful sorry,” said the man ; “ but it’s darkish right 
along here, and we never saw you. I wouldn’t ’a done it for 
a mint of money. Think the young lady’s hurt ? ” 

“ No, she has only fainted.” 

“ Perhaps we better help you,” said one of the girls, 
leaning over the side of the boat. 

“ No, thank you ; we shall soon be home ; ” and seizing the 
oars, he sent the boat along with vigorous strokes, hardly 
daring to breathe until he came in sight of the house. 
Then he raised the fair head, and rested it against his knee 
There was a languid flutter of the eyelids, a faint movement 
of the lips, and he clasped her to the heart that still qui^^ered 


106 


IN TRUST, OR 


tvith intense emotion. Murmuring in a low, convulsive tone, 
“ 0, my darling ! my darling ! ” he covered the face with 
passionate kisses. 

She lay quite still, encircled with one arm, while with the 
other he brought the boat around, and fastened the chain. 
Lifting her tenderly out on the coping, he found her able to 
stand. When he would have taken her in his arms again, 
her girlish bashfulness protested. “ I can walk,” she ex- 
claimed. “ I am not hurt.” 

“ Thank Grod ! ” was all he said. Then she felt herself 
borne up the terrace steps, and through the garden, as if she 
had been thistle-down. Releasing her in the hall, where the 
gaslight sent shadowy rays through its globe of ground glass, 
he glanced earnestly in her face a moment. It required an 
ejffort to deny himself the words he most wished to say, but 
her paleness gave him strength. “ Shall I call Ann ?” he 
asked, instead. 

She was trembling violently, partly from fright, and partly 
from flashes of feeling that ran over her like seas of fire one 
instant, and the next chilled her with keen frostiness. She 
was glad to lean on his shoulder, and said, with childish en- 
treaty, “ Take me up stairs first.” 

The confidence evinced by her request thrilled him with 
joy. He bore her to the sitting-room, and had just laid her 
on the lounge, when Ann emerged from an opposite apart- 
ment. 

“ 0 Miss Mabel ! ” and she held up both hands. 

“ Hush, Ann ; it was only a slight accident. Not a word 
to any one to-night. Mr. Gregory is wet through also.” 

“ Yes, I must leave you,” he said, in a lingering tone, as 
if it pained him to go. Then he pressed her hand to his 
lips. She flushed redly. 

“ And the doctor not in ! ” ejaculated Ann, recovering a 
little from her surprise. 

“ Well, I don’t need him ; ” and Mabel laughed at the ludi- 
erous aspect of affairs. “ He wouldn’t know where to find 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


107 


me any dry clothes — all I want just now. Will you get 
them?” 

As thanks for her assistance, Mabel briefly went over her 
adventure, trying to keej her voice steady, and her face 
from that troublesome crimson. Lily came flying up stairs, 
and the sisters began to prepare for bed, for Mabel felt 
anxious to hide herself from everybody. It seemed as if 
they were all going to demand her secret immediately. 

Half an hour later Philip tapped lightly at the door. 
"How is Miss Mabel?” he asked, in a low tone. 

“ 0, she’s comfortable, and in bed. Didn’t she come near 
getting drowned, Mr. Gregory ? Are you quite sure ?” 

“ Yes ; ” and he laughed a little. “ I should not have let 
her drown. We were in no great danger, though. Good 
night ; ” and he was off, for he heard Kichard at the hall 
door. He had no wish to take any person into his confldence 
that night, but he spent a long while in prayer, thanking God 
for more than one blessing. 

It was not very early when he came down the next day. 
Pausing in the hall, he caught a glimpse of a white morning 
dress, with violet trimmings. Obeying his first impulse, he 
entered the parlor. Mabel paused in her work, laid down 
her gay feather duster, and glanced up with a beseeching 
look, her face all one rosy flush. 

“ Are you quite well ? ” he asked, hurriedly, “ and recov- 
ered from last night ? I don’t know what I am to say for 
being so careless : we were so in the shade that I was more 
to blame than the other party. I should have kept better 
watch.” 

"And I should not have started up. It was partly mj 
fault.” 

There vas a long silence. They stood by the open win* 
dow, their hearts beating audibly. Then he drew her gently 
tow^ards him, and without questioning the face, pressed his 
lips to hers. A faint, tremulous motion answered him — her 
first kis3 ; and in that mute caress the soul of her girlhood 
oassed into Philip’s keeping. 


108 


IN TRUST, OK 


“ I have hardly any right to say this,” he commenced 
jjlowly, “ beginning my life over again, as t am ; but when 
I perilled your safety last night, I learned how dear you were 
to me. Can you wait, Mabel, fur what I hope to offer you 
by and by ? ” 

She hid her face on his shoulder with the abandonment of 
perfect trust. 

“ The sweetest of all answers,” he said, raising it and 
kissing the quivering lips. “You love me even as I love 
you.” 

Richard looked in at the door. “ 0 ! ” he exclaimed, 
turning away. 

“ Come here, Richard ; we want you ; ” and Philip held 
out his hand, adding, with a little heightened color, “ the 
usual reward of hospitality.” 

Richard grasped the extended hand warmly. In his face 
was fullest approbation. 

“ Don’t answer until you have heard my story,” Philip said, 
with frank ingenuousness. “ You may not feel like trusting 
me with any of your treasures ; ” and in a voice that had to be 
governed a little to keep it calm, he related the events of the 
preceding evening, not so much to excuse what might seem 
a hasty proposal, as to satisfy his own frank nature. Mabel 
listened with downcast eyes, and crimson face, as Philip went 
over the still incomprehensible moment when love had so 
suddenly surprised Both hearts. Richard read the expres- 
sion perfectly. 

“ My dear Philip,” he began, in a full tone, “ you can 
hardly understand my satisfaction. Had the power been in 
my own hands, I could not have chosen more wisely for her. 
I know I am right in saying the position you will have to 
ofibr her will be more in consonance with her own tastes 
tlian mere worldly aims. As for the years of waiting, if 
your love is true, — the real fine gold of life, — it will be un- 
changeable, If not, it is best to learn the fact before th« 
irrevocalde word is spoken.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


169 


“As if it could change or fail ! ” and Philip Grregorj 
passed his arm proudly over Mabel’s shoulder, while she 
half unconsciously placed her hand in his. 

Was it strange a pang of desolation should pierce Rich- 
ard’s heait at sight of this perfect faith? A waft of mem- 
ory swept a furrow through the waving grass, and disclosed 
the ruined temple in his soul. 

“ No, no,” he returned, hurriedly, “ I have no fear for 
5011 , and Mabel’s heart is truth itself.” Bending down he 
kiss( d the fair face. 

SJie clasped her arms around his neck, and exclaimed, in 
a seJf-reproachful tone, “ 0 Richard ! I ought not to love 
any one better than you ; ” yet the lingering cadence con- 
fessed that she did. 

“ If it was any one but Philip, I might not consent so 
readily,” he replied, gayly, as the breakfast bell rang. 

She ran away to cool her cheeks ; but Archie upset all 
composure a moment afterwards, by crying out, “ She didn’t 
look a bit like a drowned girl ! ” 

They were barely seated, when Lilian began a lamentation 
about this being Philip’s last day, declaring it was positively 
3 ruel in him to leave them with so many promises yet unful- 
lilled. 

“ I’m not quite as hard and unpersuadable as the Rock of 
Gibraltar,” he said, gravely ; “ so, Lily, if you will make out 
a very tempting programme for another week, I may take in 
Newark on my way back.” 

Thus encouraged, Lily began to count up the books there 
were still to read, the places that absolutely ought to be 
fisited, and made such a formidable list, that Philip declared 
himself quite vanquished. 

“ There !” she exclaimed, triumphantly, and with charm- 
ing naivete^ “ you were wishing yesterday, Bel, that he 
would stay, and I dare say you never thought of coaxing 
him.” 

Lily’s keen eyes might have discovered that tuere was a 

10 


110 


IN TKI7ST, OK 


secret, if Richard had not rushed to the rescue. On leaving 
tlio breakfast-room she carried Philip off in triumph, but was 
rexed to learn, a while later, just as she finished a little favor 
for Richard, that he had gone to walk with Mabel ; and it was 
iH'nrlj dinner time when they returned. The parting was 
Inief and full of hope for all. 

That evening Mabel came to Richard of her own accord, 
as if she needed the seal of his words to assure herself all 
was right. There was no mother to soothe the blushing 
cheeks and palpitant nerves, no girlish friend, in whose fond 
bosom she could confide her trembling joy ; but he made 
amends for all, with his tender thoughtfulness and wise 
counsel. 

And thus Richard Bertrand made another essay in his 
position as head of the family. Unconsciously he had come 
to lean on Mabel since the stay of his own heart had been 
wrenched away. The nobleness and purity of her character 
attracted him strongly. But instead of keeping her for a 
friend all the future years, he was suddenly called upon to 
yield his claim for one that must inevitably grow dearer and 
more absorbing. There was a little pain, but no jealousy; 
he loved Philip too sincerely for that. 

One by one they would go to other homes — those happy, 
loving children ! He could not quite banish the lost dream 
of his own past — the hope that should have made fadeless 
sunshine for all time. As he grew older and graver, amid 
cares and duties, fair young girls, with fresh, eager hearts, 
wDuld pass him by. Yet he did not regret Ada, nor think 
impatiently of the charge so solemnly given him. He re- 
membered a wise hand had written, “It is good for a man 
that he bear the yoke in his youth.” Far better than • 
weightsome cross in after life. 


DB. BEBTBAND’s household. 


Ill 


CHAPTEK XIII. 

** God sets some lives in shade, alone; 

They have no daylight of their own; 

Only in lives of happier ones 
They see the shine of distant suns.” 

The annual visit to Cape May, that had been thrown into 
the background by Mr. Glregory’s unexpected arrival, was 
now discussed. To Lily’s surprise, she found Mabel quite 
disinclined for the journey ; and as Pichard did not press 
the matter, the number of travellers dwindled one half. 
But Archie had no fancy for giving up his anticipated pleas- 
ure, and Lily gravely announced the fact “ that she could 
have all the fun she wanted at aunt Sophy’s, and be back by 
the time Mr. Gregory came.” 

As for Mabel, she hardly dared take a comprehensive 
view of her own happiness until the house was quiet, and no 
curious eyes remained to come upon her suddenly at some 
defenceless moment. In the long days that followed she 
had plenty of time for thought. Her first feeling was one 
of surprise. Her own estimate of herself was lowly; she 
wondered how a man, brilliant and talented as Philip 
Gregory, could have dreamed of choosing her. And then 
the life he had marked out for himself, — could she ever 
become a fitting companion for such a man and such a 
destiny ? 

Her communings might have been more troubled than 
pleasant but for Richard. He smoothed out the tangled 
path of difficulty, restored the drooping courage, and was, 
as Mabel afterwards told Philip, a perfect Mr. Great Heart. 


112 


IK TRUST, OR 


He understood readily the charm such a pure nature held 
for a man of quick resolution, refined and enthusiastic, yet 
continually occupied and excited by human interest. Philip 
could mould it, with his force of character, into whatsoever 
shape he liked. She was gentle, but not weak ; yielding, 
yet not indolently passive.' Her high, true faith, her gen- 
erosity, tempered by a fine sense of justice, would be excel- 
lent qualities in her new life. She also possessed that 
graceful dignity which was winning in itself, and demanded 
from others a certain respect. Even the very obtuse would 
not be likely to trample on her. 

During that brief separation she received two letters 
from Philip. With a delicacy only the highest mind could 
have evinced, he startled her with no rapturous declarations 
of love, and asked for no answers until he came himself. 
The weeks flew by rapidly. Indeed, she was hardly ready 
when the frank, electric voice greeted her, and the earnest 
eyes demanded their full meed of aflPection. 

They had one delightful day to themselves — a day in 
which they sat under the old elm, and, as Philip said, “ be- 
came acquainted with each other.” It was an odd state fo? 
Mabel, who had never yet dreamed of a lover. 

“ How little I thought, a few weeks ago, that, before I 
went back to college, two new and blessed hopes would be 
added to my life, that for years had looked so solitary,” Philip 
said, musingly. “ In Mr. Chaloner, I have found a more 
than friend — a father. 0 Mabel, I wish you could see 
that little nest among the hills ! The village proper is back 
a short distance from the river’s edge, the old gray stone 
church and vine-embowered rectory forming a sort of con- 
necting link. To the right, all along the river, the scene is 
beautiful, and varied by numberless charming summer resi- 
dences — some standing on hills with sloping lawns, some 
hidden among rocks and trees. There is scarcely anything 
in all Italy more lovely. Mr. Chaloner has been at Rothelan 
nine years, and the people love him devotedly His long, 


DK. Bertrand’s household. 


113 


white beard, and the flowing hair that .dusters about his 
temples in loose waves, give him a benign, patriarchal ap- 
pearance. He is nearing seventy, yet he is earnest and 
vigorous in all good works, patient with poverty and ignor- 
ance, and 0, so kind to the little ones ! Three years ago 
he lost his only son, who was shortly to take holy orders, 
and become his father’s assistant.” 

“ How sad ! ” Mabel returned, in a tone of truest pity. 

“ Yes ; I wonder it did not entirely break him down. His 
faith and resignation are beautiful in the extreme. And 
now, my darling, I come to something that concerns you, or 
must at least have your assent.” 

“ Concerns me?” was the wondering rejoinder. 

“ Yes ; are you not linked in with every thought of my 
future life ? ” and he drew the fair form nearer to him. 
“ Before I left Mr. Chaloner, he made me an ofFer that was 
at once generous and affectionate. He will need an assist- 
ant ; indeed, he ought to have one now, but the place seems 
sacred to him, because it was destined for his son. Judge 
of my surprise when he asked me if I would be willing to 
come by and by.” 

“ And you will,” she said, in a tone scarcely less sweet 
than the south wind that went whispering above them. 

“ Would you like a country life ? Mr. Chaloner wishes to 
be rector at Bothelan while he is able to toil in the vineyard. 
He has a small income of his own, but, at best, the salary 
of the assistant would not be very large. Then the two 
families would have to make one — at least, that is his idea. 
The rectory is roomy enough, and in addition to this, he 
gave me a word of advice, especially relating to you.” 

Mabel colored, but looked incredulous. 

“ He suggested I should marry, and bring my wife there ; 
and Philip raised the sweet face to note the effect of his 
communication. “ I might do better, you know,” he said, 
with a smile, “ and you may prefer something grander.” 

0 Philip ! ” The tone was tenderly reproachful. 

“ My darling ! ” 

in* 


114 


IN TBUST, OR 


“ It must be as you wish,” she said, with quiet determina- 
fcion “ If I trust you with my heart, can I not trust jou 
ivith all things else ? And Mr. Chaloner has been your 
friend so long.” 

He could not forbear kissing her. 

“ Yes,” he went on ; “ to Mr. Chaloner and your father 1 
owe all that is and will be truly good in my life. He was 
the clergyman at Hilton, where I first met Richard at board- 
ing-school. And now from Richard’s hands I take one gift, 
and from his I am offered another. Everything seems to 
come to me, when a few years ago I used to think I had 
given up everything.” 

“ All things shall work together for the good of those 
who love Him,” Mabel said, with sweet seriousness. 

“ It seems a long while to look forward, yet two years 
will pass quickly. I have much to do in that time.” 

“ And I, also. 0 Philip ! you must help me to grow 
strong, that I may be fit for my station. It is such a great 
and holy work, that I tremble lest I shall fail you when you 
most need help and comfort.” 

“We will remember who ‘ giveth liberally, and upbraideth 
not.’ He must be our perpetual guide.” And in the quiet 
of that summer afternoon, both hearts cried unto Him. 

The next day Lily returned, bright, vivacious, and co- 
quettish. Richard, however, proved himself equal to the 
situation. He planned nicely for the lovers, and so en- 
grossed Lily that more than once she excused herself to 
Philip with an important air. The week flew on rosy 
wings. 

“ I shall not be so generous at college,” Philip whispered, 
an hour before his departure. “ You must send me good 
long answers to my letters, and if it is possible, I may make 
you a flying visit at Christmas.” 

Mabel remembered, just then, she had never written to 
any one except her father and Lily. She trembled at the 
prospect before her. 

A little later Robert came home, taller and handsomei 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


115 


than ever; the brown hue of his complexion imparting a 
foreign look. He had gained a jaunty swagger that cer- 
tainly sat well upon him, the only thing Jhat cculd be said 
in its favor. His trip had not greatly improved him, neither 
had it increased his taste for business. He slept late in the 
morning, was imperious and sulky over his solitary breakfast, 
lounged and smoked through the day, and was frequently 
out until midnight. His influence on the children was any- 
thing but desirable. In his ill-tempered moods he fretted 
them beyond endurance, and at other times indulged them 
and interfered with everything like order. He did not seek 
to conceal his habits, but talked of drinking, gaming, and 
tast horses with the easy insouciance of a man of the world, 
Richard tried patience and love, ably seconded by Mabel ; 
and though no words were spoken, their troubled glances 
mutually confessed each attempt a failure. 

Another trait in Robert’s character was likely to prove a 
serious source of trouble. He was indolent as well as self- 
ish. When he had spent the wages of his trip at sea, he 
evinced not the slightest desire to seek a position that 
would give him independence, but applied unhesitatingly to 
Richard for money. There was not a thought of jealousy 
or self-interest in Richard’s heart ; yet he knew it was ne 
cessary to take a firm stand, or he would be answerable in 
some degree for his brother’s ruin. 

To this followed angry taunts. “ He was not born a 
miserly old skinflint ; he wanted to take the comforts of life, 
and he meant to have them. He wasn’t spending any one’s 
money but his own.” And to out-general Richard, he had 
recourse to the old trick of borrowing. On making this 
discovery, Richard called in Mr. Guilford. 

“ The best plan for you,” said the guardian, “ will be to 
obtain some regular employment. I will interest myself in 
anything you prefer, for I desire to see you settled. You 
are well aware, that at your present rate of expenditure, you 
would waste your portion before you came of age.” 


116 


Iisr TBUST, OR 


“ That's my own affair, ” was the haughty reply. “ All I 
ask of Kichard is to buy out my share of the house. He 
may as well do it now as a year hence.-’ 

Mr. Gruilford candidly stated his objections to such apian, 
and tried to rouse the young man to a sense of duty, but 
only succeeded in making him extremely angry. 

“Very well,” he said, with flashing eyes, “since you 
are both determined to send me adrift, so be it ; ” and he 
inarche(i^out of the office in high indignation. 

“ Let him go ! ” exclaimed Mr. Guilford, in answer to 
Richard’s perplexed and sorrowful look. “ It is time he 
was thrown on his own resources. With his abilities it is a 
shame for him to be idling and keeping the company he 
does.” 

“ If one could only be sure of the right course with him ; ” 
and Richard sighed. 

“ My dear friend, you have tried gentle means until the 
very verge of weak indulgence has been reached. Few 
brothers would have done as much. Had your father lived, 
he would have found governing Robert no easy task. I 
wonder the shock of his death did not sober him. It only 
proves how deeply rooted the evil is.” 

The interview left Richard greatly disheartened. To fail 
with the first-born of the family he had promised to watch 
over was a painful thought. His heart cried out, from its 
inmost core, “ How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ?’' 

For a fortnight nothing was heard of Robert. Then he 
made his appearance, in his usual easy, off-hand manner, 
and announced that he had secured a situation in a broker’s 
office in Wall Street, and also a boarding-place. Richarc? 
demurred a little at the latter arrangement. 

“You ought to be glad to rid the house of me on any 
terms,” he returned, rather bitterly. “ And as for me, I’ve 
had enough of governing. You may keep your superfluous 
care for the girls.” 

“ At least,” Richard answered, “ I want you to feel thai 


DR. Bertrand’s household 


117 


this is still your father’s house — the place where his chil- 
dren will ever be welcome. I want you to come and go as 
you choose ; we, at least, shall never forget how tender a 
claim you have on our love.” 

The bold eyes sank under the clear, fearless gaze they 
encountered. Conscience woke for a moment, and warned 
Robert the path he was in would lead to shame and destruc- 
tion. But self-indulgence was strong upon him ; desire, so 
often gratified, hurried him from thoughts of repentance. 

Mr. Guilford made some inquiries, and found Robert had 
told the truth respecting his new situation. He was not 
favorably impressed with either member of the firm ; and 
when he found how small the salary was, he felt assured a 
young man with Robert’s fondness for society, and expensive 
habits, could not live on it in such a place as New York. 
He deemed it his duty, however, to warn the employers not 
to let him draw on them for a larger amount, as he did not 
care to have tho property entangled in such a manner. 

Robert soon learned this, and his passion knew no bounds. 
He wrote angrily to Richard that he would have no more of 
this spying and interference. “ I offered to sell out to you 
once, and you refused ; now I want you to understand, once 
for all, that I shall raise money in any manner I please. I 
can do it, if I am under age.” 

This threat decided Richard. He answered to Robert 
that he would find a sum placed in Mr. Guilford’s care, on 
which he would be at full liberty to draw at any time. 

It was nearly Christmas when this troublesome affair was 
settled. Yet, through all the perplexity, Richard did not 
forget Mabel’s young hopes. His delicate tenderness, his 
thorough knowledge of Philip, and perhaps, too, his own 
costly experience, enabled him to guide, where her timidity 
m’ght have betrayed her into some false step. Her letters 
came always under cover to him ; thus she was spared ques- 
tioning and embarrassment. There were hours when he 
took comfort from the pure, perfect affection ripening before 
him. 


118 


IN TRUST, OR 


Mabel tried to understand that in accepting Philip’s love 
she had also accepted his life, and endep-voved to fit herself 
for her new sphere. She went at housekeeping with re- 
markable ardor, studied her music indefatigably, and amused 
Richard by various attempts at solid reading. Yet she did 
not neglect the duties nearest her. The sisters, so well 
loved, demanded and received their full share of attention. 
.Archie clung to her with fond, boyish pride, compounded of 
love and admiration. Only one had remained proof against 
her sweetness and affection, and yet even he had paid her a 
curious sort of respect. 

Philip’s visit was brief, and made general by the festivities 
of the season — hardly satisfactory to so ardent a lover as he 
had become ; but he bore the disappointment with becoming 
equanimity, and looked forward to summer. 

Another spring shone and blossomed over them. They 
were all very happy. Even Robert forgot his anger, and 
paid them fiying visits. He had changed bis situation for a 
better one, and, all things considered, had not been immod- 
erate in his demands on Mr. Guilford. Richard ventured to 
indulge in a little hope. 

At the commencement of vacation Richard sent the three 
younger children to aunt Sophy’s, declaring he could not 
spare Mabel for a full fortnight yet. She blushed a little 
consciously over this ; but before the kisses of separation 
had grown cold upon her lips, new and blessed ones min- 
gled with them ; and in the quiet of those pleasant days 
Philip had no rival. 

It was their first real love-making. Hitherto she had been 
shy, and passively acquiescent. Philip had paid homage to 
youth and innocence; but now the man’s strong, ardent, and 
not easily satisfied nature demanded a return. Once fully 
opening her heart, even she was surprised at its depth and 
capacity. She grew brave enough to connect every day and 
hour of the coming time with him for whom she should spend 
it. And he pictured visions of their years together — of the 


I>K. BERTKAND'S HOtTSEHOLD. Jl9 

work they would do, of the hopes that would blossom and 
unfold before them; sweet days, when he should take her 
into his own keeping ; when their two lives would blend into 
one perfect soul union. Her tender gravity would restrain 
his impetuous spirit, his exuberance counteract the tendency 
to pensiveness that the events of her early life had given, 
xis Ki chard watched them, he inwardly gave thanks that the 
two, so evidently formed for each other, should thus meet 
on the bridge of life. 

So they walked through shadowy twilights, talked, read, 
gang, or gave themselves up to blissful dreams, that have 
survived Eden, and blossom in as dewy freshness for all as 
for the first mother. To Mabel’s care had been committed 
a loving, loyal heart, that must evermore thrill at her lightest 
smile, and sorrow over her smallest grief. When wearied 
by painful discords and rude cares, it would come to her for 
rest, comfort. No longer her own ! She knew now what 
Richard had hoped ; she dimly guessed what he had suf- 
fered. 

Then she went to rejoin the children. When Richard 
came for them, he was accompanied by “ Mr. Gregory.” 
Of course it was impossible to keep the secret. Lily was 
surprised, piqued, and pleased. Aunt Sophy was delighted, 
kissed Mabel, and cried over her, and predicted a bright 
future. As for Philip, he enjoyed his position of acknowl- 
edged lover immensely. 

The last night of their stay they went to walk on the 
beach, where, two years before, she had paced the sands 
with her brother. But the murmurous sea kept time to 
happy heart-beats now, and the stars glorified their pleasant 
way. Philip was more than ever in love with Rothelan, and 
built his castle in spare corners of the rectory, which seemed 
equally as absorbing as Spain. 

“ He was so kind and fatherly,” was the remark, after a 
long dissertation on Mr. Chaloner, “ that I couldn't help 
telling him how sweet a hope my life held. And, dear, he 


120 


IN TKUST, OB 


was so pleased ! He has made me promise to come to h:m 
just as soon as I am ordained, and thinks, as I do, there is 
no need of delaying the marriage. Can it, shall it be, my 
darling ? ” 

She started, and all the pulses of her heart sent their 
crimson blood to her face. She was thankful for the night, 
for the purple darkness. His wife ! It had seemed like a 
distant dream to her ; she could not bring it to this peaceful 
present. It was too strange, too exciting. 

He misunderstood her emotion. “ WiU you not like to 
go ? ” he asked. 

“ Thy people shall be my people.” The fair face grew 
sweeter and tenderer beneath the soft stars of the summer 
night. 

“ This will be the most blessed year of my whole life, 
because at its close, if it please Grod, I shall realize my two 
best hopes. 0 darling, how good God has been to me, 
to 141/” 


DK. BEBTUAND’s household 


121 


CHAPTEK XIY. 

In a valiant suffering for others, not in a slothful making others suffer for u», 
iid uobhness ever lie. Every noble croAvn is, and on earth will ever be, a 
crown of thorns. 

Carlyle. 

The Sept8mber sun, with its ripening tints of umber, lay 
warm and golden on walk, terrace, and river. All that love- 
ly day the Bertrand mansion had presented a picture of still 
life in exquisite detail. The children at school, Mabel alter- 
nately musing and sewing some dainty trifle, and even Rich- 
ard being pleasantly idle, with leisure to look over accounts, 
and read some choice books. A spirit of peace brooded in 
the very atmosphere. He remembered long afterwards the 
sweet, restful calm of this day. It was as if he had turned 
out of the hot, wearisome highway of life, and lingered a 
while in some cool valley. 

Just as they were summoned to dinner, Robert made his 
appearance. They welcomed him warmly, although a little 
surprised at his coming. His manner was cordial, and full 
of that easy grace always distinguishing him; but Richard 
fancied the lines about his mouth were tense, and his brow 
more than once was knit by some sudden and unpleasant 
thought. Therefore he was not surprised when Robert took 
his arm and led him down the garden walk. 

‘•Dick,” he said, at length, “ I want you to grant me a 
favor.” 

“ You are in trouble again,” was the sad rejoinder. 

“ Yes, and no. I want to turn over a new leaf in good 
faith, Dick. I confess I’ve fallen into company and habits 

11 


122 


IN TBUST, OR 


that are rather troublesome and expensive, and I can’t seen 
to make a new beginning here. I have a chance in Cali- 
fornia, with a large shipping firm, of a good salary ; so 1 
want you to buy out my share of the house, and let me go.” 

“ To California ! And you are sure there is nothing else 
—-no difiiculty? I must have the whole truth before I take 
one step ; ” and, as Ei chard’s steady eyes confronted the 
handsome face, it flushed and grew uneasy, as with an air 
of bravado he answered, — 

“ My dear fellow, how dran?.atic you are ! I haven’t mur- 
dered, nor forged, nor stolen. I am considerably in debt, 
for somehow I hate to ask Guilford for money. It makes 
me feel as if he was paying my debts gratuitously. Bui 
when I take a new start it shall all be different.” 

“ When do you want to go ? ” 

“ Saturday, by the Northern Light. The person whose 
situation I am to take, expects to come home in about a 
month. He’s tired of the place, I believe, and I’m tired of 
this ; so we’re even.” 

“ It’s very sudden,” Kichard said, slowly, not at all con- 
vinced that this was the real reason. 

“ So, if you’ll let me have all my money, it will make 
affairs easier for me. I want to straighten up everything 
before I go.” 

Kichard knew by past experience that asking direct ques- 
tions was useless ; so they discussed the journey and the 
separation. Robert seemed really grateful and appreciative ; 
so he felt that it might be the best step that could be taken. 
California was not the place of all others he would have 
chosen, but to oppose would gain him nothing at all. 
Presently they returned to the sitting-room, and announced 
the coming departure. There was a great outcry of aston- 
ishment at first ; then Robert quieted and interested the 
younger ones with descriptions of the golden land, until 
the pleasant talk quite took the edge off their sorrow. 

Mabel was thoughtful, and sought opportunity to whisper, — 


DB. BEBTKAND’s HOUSEHOIiD. 


123 


“ What sends him away so suddenly ? ” 

“ I don’t know anything more than he has told,” Kichard 
.-eplied. 

The following morning the brothers went to Lawyer Guil- 
ford’s. Kichard saw him alone, and explained the matter in 
hand. 

“ It’s rather irregular, you know, Robert being under age. 
tie may cause you trouble hereafter.” 

“I think he means to act in good faith. We want the 
house valued, and I am to lend him the amount, taking his 
part as security. He has promised to sign off as soon as 
his birthday comes. But I want everything securely ar- 
ranged, so that he will not be able to dispute any point, in 
event of my death.” 

Since Dr. Bertrand’s death the place had increased in 
value somewhat, and Richard was too honorable to defraud 
his brother of a penny. Robert appeared to be in a most 
amicable mood, and acceded willingly to every suggestion. 
His extravagances since leaving college were deducted from 
his part, and the rcmaiiidcr was left subject to his order. 

“ Give me a check for a thousand,” he said. “ I want to 
engage my passage and make a few purchases.” 

Richard filled it out and handed it to him. He just paused 
to say, “ I shall be home this evening,” and bowing to both 
gentlemen, walked off in his jaunty, independent fashion. 

“ I am glad for your sake that this troublesome business 
will soon be over,” Mr. Guilford remarked. 

Richard sighed. He was thinking just then of another 
prodigal, who took his portion and went into a strange 
country. He could not feel quite at ease. 

It was midnight ere Robert returned. The next morning 
found him in charming spirits. He scarcely left Mabel’s 
side, and evinced the warmest interest in her future. In- 
deed, he won her over completely ; and after school he rowed 
the children a long way up the river, amusing them with 
ongs and stories. And on Friday, his last day home, there 


124 


IN TRUST, OR 


was a menagerie in the city, and a very fine concert to be 
given in the evening ; so he persuaded Richard to allow him 
to take the children to both. They were wild with delight. 
The grave elder brother looked after them as they set off. 
What bright, happy faces ! Even Robert’s was glad and 
smiling, and he felt self-condemned at having unjustly sus- 
pected him of wrong doing. 

“ 0, is that you, Doctor Richard ?” Ann asked, as he let 
himself in with his latch-key. “ Will you have dinner now, 
or wait until the children come r ” 

“ Wait, by all means ; I’m in no hurry. Any calls ? 

“ There are two people in the office, who have been wait- 
ing this hour to see you and Master Robert.” 

He drew off his gloves deliberately, entered the library, 
and walked through to the office. The “ two people ” were 
a stout, business-looking man, and a tall, hard-featured 
woman, whose face indicated shrewdness and determination. 
Neither was very prepossessing. He merely gave them a 
glaiiCc, ctiiu. fsd/iu, courteously, ** jlou wisneu to see me ? — 
Doctor Bertrand.” 

“ Yes,” responded the woman. “ Your brother’s goin’ to 
Californy — isn’t he ? ” 

“ He expects to.” 

The woman gave her companion a significant nod, and 
then said, “ He sails to-mort*ow — doesn’t he ? ” 

The answer was in the affirmative. 

“ I want to see you both together, when he comes in,” the 
woman said, settling herself back in her chair. 

More puzzled than he cared to show', he rang the bell, and 
ordered Robert to be sent to him as soon as he returned ; 
then took up a paper, and from behind it cast furtive glances 
at his visitors. The woman was undeniably coarse and mas- 
culine, her dress a strange mixture of ill-taste and glaring 
color. She had a rough, weather-beaten look, yet did not 
seem old, although her black hair was slightly grizzled. 
What could she want of them both ? 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


125 


Presently a host of gay voices sounded in the hall. Rober* 
opened the door with, “ What did you want of me, Dick ? ” 
and before his brother could reply, the woman confronted 
him. He sank into the nearest chair, the brilliant face fad- 
ing into pale ashen gray, while a quick gleam of fear and 
hate shot out of the astonished eyes. 

“ So, my fine bird, you haven’t slipped out of my hands 
as easy as you thought for ! ” 

The taunt seemed to reanimate him. A blazing ray of 
passion brought the color back to his face, and he ground 
his white teeth together with a half-suppressed oath, as he 
demanded, “ What in the fiend’s name brought you here ?” 

She laughed triumphantly, took a cool survey of the face, 
absolutely distorted with rage at having been thus foiled in 
his schemes, and said, in a tantalizing tone, — 

“ Keep your temper, my young gentleman ! There’s lots 
of business to be settled afore I stir out of this house. You 
w?« goin’ to dodge me all so fast, but you’ve found I could 
be right spry when I started. You ain’t in Californy yet ! ” 
Robert was too angry and excited to speak. Richard 
turned to him, saying, oaimiy, “ What does this woman want 
with you ? If she has claims upon you, settle them imme- 
diately.” 

She turned her eyes steadily upon him, and exclaimed in 
a high, shrill tone, — 

“ Yes, I’ve got claims upon him, and I ain’t goin’ to be 
bullied out of ’em eitGer. You rich folks think you’re lords 
of the world, and kin do what you like ; but you won’t do it 
here. I’m bound to have satisfaction ! I’ve got law on my 
side, and some money that I ain’t afeard of spendin’. Mebbe 
your young man ’d rather tell his own story, though.” 

“ Tell it yourself. Your tongue is glib enough,” was th<> 
sullen rejoinder ; and Robert buried his face in his hands. 
If lie could have spared Richard the coming pang, he would 
luivr iin<lergone any torture at that moment. Shauie, anger 
liiid a bitter sense of defeat rankled in his heart. 

11 * 


126 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ He married my gal last Feb’uary, or at least pretended 
so ; and now he’s goin’ off without leavin’ a dollar for her or 
the baby that’s to come. My friend here’s an officer, and 
you’ll pay han’somely for this piece of work, or you’ll go to 
jail. That’s the long and the short of it.” 

The dinner bell rang at this juncture. Richard opened 
the door, and bade Mabel not wait for them, then shut it 
carefully, and closed the window. “ Now,” said he, with 
quiet authority, “ I am ready for your story. Tell it briefly 
as possible.” 

“ You needn’t be so uppish ! ” and the woman bridled 
angrily at his calmness. “ I shall tell the truth, which is 
more ’n hes in the habit of doin’, I guess ; ” and she nodded 
her head towards Robert. “ He’d been cornin’ to my place 
a spell, with a lot of young bloods, when one night he saw 
my gal. He took to followin’ her home from school, and 
bein’ mighty pleasant with her. I didn’t put her in his way, 
nor ask him to fall in love with her ; but he kept hangin’ 
round, sendin’ her books and sich, until I see she begun to 
like him. The gal was too young, and innocent, and pretty, 
to be fooled with. So I told him, plump and plain, if he 
wanted to marry her he might keep on, but if not, to make 
tracks, ’cause I wasn’t goin’ to have any trouble. He kept 
away a week or so ; then he told me he wanted to marry the 
gal, but he wasn’t of age, and his folks would oppose it, 
’cause they was rich, but if I’d let ’em be married privately, 
he’d take care on her until he got his fortin. And he 
wanted a friend of his to marry ’em, so when he come to 
confess, the minister could smooth things out a little for 
him. Well, I got my neighbor here, Mr. Grarrick, to find 
out how things stood, and he said he guessed the story was 
about straight ; so I consented, for my gal thought as much 
of him as if he’d been made out of gold.” 

‘‘You were ready enough to have me marry your decoy 
duck,” sneered Robert. 

“ She wasn’t no decoy duck ! ” snapped the woman, an- 


DB. BEBTBAND’s household. 


127 


grily. “ You know she never ’tended shop ; and you was 
crazy about her — you needn’t deny it ! Well, they was mar- 
ried, and he used to stay to my house a good deal. Mar- 
g’ret and he was happy as birds. After a while, ’long in the 
summer, he begun to slack up cornin’ ; but the gal believed 
his excuses, and as he took care of her, and wasn’t ugly, 1 
thought I wouldn’t find fault. But when he staid away a 
week or two at a time, I see she grieved about it, and asked 
him what he meant. He was pretty lordly, and wouldn’t give 
me much satisfaction, but finally said, if I’d wait until he was 
of age, I’d see what he meant to do. He didn’t come near 
Marg’ret after that ; so Monday I marched down to his office, 
and asked him if he wanted to break his wife’s heart by neg- 
lect. He jest give a little laugh, and asked me to prove he 
had a wife, and he’d promise to be devoted to her. I was 
awful mad, I tell you ; but I kept quiet. When I got home, 
I found he’d taken away Marg’ret’s certificate. So I come 
over to Jersey, to find the Mr. Fields who married ’em. 
He wasn’t the man at all, and he said he could swear he’d 
never married any such persons. Then I knew we’d been 
tricked ; and when I found he’d left his office, I put Mr. 
Grarrick on the scent, and he soon learned my gentleman was 
makin’ off for Californy. He’s got a warrant in his pocket, 
and can take the rascal off to the Tombs ; but I’ll give you 
both a chance to act fair. I can make him marry the gal, or 
send him to State Prison ! ” and she gave an exultant chuckle. 

“ Will you walk in the adjoining room a moment ? ” Rich- 
ard said to the woman and her companion. 

‘‘Look here now,” she said, turning on him; “there’s 
to be no conniving between you two. I won’t b'e hard on 
the young scamp, nuther ; I’ll give him off, if he’ll provide 
for the gal and her child. She’ll do better without him, if 
he don’t care for her.” 

Richard motioned them peremptorily away, and closed the 
door. A deathly silence ensued. It was broken at length 
by his saying, hoarsely, — 

“ Is that woman’s story true, Robert ? ” 


i28 


IN TRUST, OR 


God knows, Dick, if I could have taken myself out oi 
the way before this came out, I would gladly have given 
every dollar I possess. I meant to have spared you this 
trouble ; but it’s my luck. Nothing ever does go right with 
me ! ” and Robert absolutely sobbed. 

“ ‘ The way of the transgressor is hard.’ 0, how could 
yon have fallen into such a sin ? ” 

“ I didn’t think how it would end. And you know, Dick, 
hundreds of young men do the same thing.” 

Richard could have spurned his brother for this weak jus- 
tification. 

“ What is to be done ?” he asked, coldly. 

“ Buy them off, I suppose, for I’m sick of the girl, and 
can’t marry her. I don’t think I would have gone so far if 
it hadn’t been for George Townley. He planned it all, and 
personated the clergyman. 0, I could kill myself for being 
such a fool ! ” 

There was no real sorrow in all this. The whole affair 
was utterly revolting to Richard, and a sense of shame over- 
whelmed him. 

“ Who are they ? ” he asked presently. 

“ This old Mother Davis keeps a drinking and gambling 
saloon, up on Third Avenue. Last winter I went there with 
some fellows ; and one night we had been sleigh-riding, and 
stopped there for supper. The boys used to talk about a 
pretty Dutch girl there ; but this evening we saw Margaret. 
George Townley was crazy about her ; but she wouldn’t even 
look at him. Then I met her in the street : she was shy 
enough at first ; but I soon found out the little fool liked me. 
I believe I was infatuated, Dick ; and then the old woman 
was so pressing ! Townley said it would be a good joke, and 
the girl wouldn’t care a bit when she grew tired of me.” 

Richard half suppressed a groan of anguish. 

“ They were as much to blame as I,” Robert said, quickly, 
“ for the old woman fairly inveigled me into it. And I dare 
say the girl will play the same game over twenty times.” 


Dtt. BEBTBAKD’s HOtTSEHOLD. 


129 


'* Is she like her mother ? ” 

“ Not a bit. I believe she isn’t really her child. She’s a 
pretty little milk-and-water thing ; her face bewitched me at 
first ; but I’m sick and tired of her now.” 

In spite of his hardihood, Eobert’s face was crimson with 
shame. He understood Eichard too well to attempt anj 
special justification ; but he was determined the mother and 
daughter should take their full share of blame. 

Eichard considered the matter in silence. While he could 
not excuse his brother’s sin, he felt something might be 
due to the schemes of a designing woman. What kind of a 
mother could she be to fancy money would make amends for 
such an irremediable blight ! How base and grovelling her 
soul ! Eichard was not at all prepared to receive such an 
addition to the family, even if he could have persuaded his 
brother into marrying the girl. Indeed, reason said, a mar- 
riage so evidently unwise when sanctioned by love, would be 
doubly so when the brief passion had settled into distaste. 
If money could heal the wrong, perhaps it would be best to 
accept the woman’s offer. 

“Why did you not tell the girl?” he asked, anxious to 
note the effect of his remark. 

Eobert started as if he had been stung. 

“ No, I couldn’t, Dick ; I couldn’t ; I would have gone to 
jail first ; ” and the crimson mounted to his brow. At a later 
day Eichard understood these words ; but now he took it 
as an evidence that his brother was not utterly lost to self- 
respect. 

“ Well,” he resumed, with a dreary sigh, “let us settle it 
the easiest way, since she will be satisfied with money.” 

“ I have fourteen hundred dollars still coming. I must 
have at least two hundred. The rest she may take. It’s 
hard, but I’m thankful to be well out of the scrape.” 

They summoned Mrs. Davis and her attendant. The 
coarse, hard face disgusted Eichard more than ever. Aftet 
an embarrassing silence of some moments he began, — 


m 


IN THtJST, OR 


“ It would be uiseless to desire two people to marry who 
have ceased to care for each other — ” 

“It’s a lie if he said so ! ” flung out the woman, angrily. 

“ Marg’ret worships him, and he knows it. There isn’t a 
thought in her heart but of him. I ain’t pertikerlar about his 
marryin’ her, though. Likely he’d be ugly, and some time 
leave her again. When she gets over her sorrow now, she’ll ^ 
be free — a blessed good thing, in my opinion ! ” 

“ There only remains one point, then : what compensation 
is required ? ” 

The woman glanced eagerly from one to the other, as 
if studying her ground, then said, with slow, decided em- 
phasis, — 

“ Five thousand dollars ! ” 

“ Five thousand ! ” they both echoed, in consternation. 

“ Yes ; people who dance must expect to pay the piper. 
That’s lettin’ you off easy, when I have it all in my own 
hands.” 

Her voice and manner were so resolute that it seemed as 
if she delighted in the extortion. Most contradictory emo- 
tions flashed through Richard’s mind. While his high and 
keen sense of right shrank from shielding so terrible a sin, 
his brotherly affection, and a belief that justice would in any 
case be perverted, if dealt out by this woman, rendered him 
cautious. 

Robert broke the silence with a cool sullenness. 

“ I can’t go that, and I won’t marry the girl; so send me 
to prison as fast as you like. You’ll have a little revenge, 
and no money, and the satisfaction of breaking Margaret’^ 
heart.” Then he settled himself in his chair, and scowled 
defiantly at her. 

Richard’s face was impassible. She read nothing in it to 
encourage her ; but she was not a woman to yield at the 
first blow. 

“ Well,” she snid, “ seeing you don’t mind the disgrace — ” 

“I’ll tell you what I will do,” interrupted Robert; “I 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


131 


have twelve hundred dollars still left of my share of the 
estate. She may take that, or I’ll marry her to-morrow 
morning, and go to California to-morrow afternoon. There 
is no law to keep me Aere, if I provide for my wife before 1 
go ; ” and a smile of triumph lit the haughty face. 

“ Twelve hundred dollars won’t take care of her and a 
ehild a great many years,” suggested the woman, in a lower 
tone. 

“ Then she can stand behind the bar with her pretty face. . 
She’ll soon get a new husband,” was the sneering rejoinder. 

The woman took a step forward, as if she would have 
struck him to the ground. The bitter contempt of her na- 
ture seemed thoroughly roused. Richard fairly shivered, 
as he listened to her withering denunciations. Not until 
her breath was gone did she pause. Then Richard stepped 
forward with a dignity not to be misunderstood. 

“ AVe have had enough recrimination,” he said, in a clear, 
cold tone. “ Take what my brother has to offer you, and 
for ten years I will add one hundred dollars annually to it. 
That is all I will do.” 

Mrs. Davis did not seem disposed to assent at first ; but 
when she became convinced that Robert was very much 
poorer than she had anticipated, and his brother fully deter- 
mined to go no farther than his first proposal, she reluctantly 
yielded. Richard wrote out the necessary notes, and Mr. 
Garrick affixed his name as witness. He would have been 
better satisfied at seeing the law take its course, but bad 
promised to do Mrs. Davis’s bidding in either event. Robert 
preserved a sulky silence, and only stared at the woman's 
parting anathema. Then the troublesome visitors withdrew, 
and the brothers were left alone. 

Robert was first to break the silence. 

“ Dick,” he began, in a low tone, “ if I should be pros- 
pered, I will pay every cent of that money. You shall 
not be the loser through your great kindness. You see nov^ 
it is best for me to go away.” 


132 


IN TRUST, OR 


“Yes;” and Richard sighed wearily, adding, “Go now; 
if you still desire to take the children out, I have no objec- 
tion to make. It may be the last time. And your secret is 
safe with me.” 

Robert moved noiselessly away, awed by the sad, patient 
face, so full of woe. He hated himself for having caused it, 
and made all manner of good resolves for the future. 


DR. BERTRAND’S HOUSEHOLD. 


138 


CHAPTEE XV. 

0 waly, waly, gin love be bonny, 

A little time while it is new } 

But when it’s auld, it waxeth cauld. 

And fades away like morning dew. 

1 leaned my back unto an aik; 

I thought it was a trusty tree ; 

But first it bowed, and syn it brake, 

And sae did my fause love to me. 

Old Ballad. 

Eobert ate his dinner in silence, and in answer to Tessy’s 
ijuestions, said he had been vexed about some money mat- 
ters, but they were all going out, as this was his last night. 
The concert was really fine ; and listening to the delightful 
music, he half forgot the peril he had been in. Alas, that 
remorse in such natures should invariably be short-lived ! It 
was not absolute insincerity, but the result of a temperament 
too pleasure-loving to concentrate itself strongly on any 
painful idea, and too selfish to follow out the picture of 
another’s suffering. He blamed himself deeply now — not 
for innocence betrayed, or a sense of forfeited honor, but 
because he had calculated wrongly, and at the eleventh hour 
ihe disgraceful secret had made itself known. It was not 
the dn, but the disclosure. “ I was a fool to talk to the 
Woman as I did,” Was his angry self-condemnation. “ I 
ought to have gone off quietly, and kept good friends with 
her until the last moment. But it’s all over now, and can’t 
be helped ! ” 

It is true that those who sin do not always suffer the most. 
Eichard, with his high, fine, honorable nature, his conscious 
feciitude and blameless life, sat crushed and trembling under 

12 


134 


IN TRUST, OK 


the blew. He could not meet the familiar faces ; it seemed 
as if they would all read the terrible story in his. As soon, 
therefore, as he could command himself a little, he took his 
hat and walked out. There were no urgent calls on his list, 
but he wanted to see some suffering that he could try to 
lighten ; for only God could lift the cloud overshadowing 
him. When he returned the house was solitary. 

They all kept up their spirits wonderfully the next morn- 
ing. Little keepsakes were exchanged; and Archie de- 
lighted himself with the idea that when he grew up he would 
go and make Robert a long visit, and have a splendid time 
Then there was the bustle of their getting ready to accom- 
pany him to the city, to “ see him off.” 

Nothing beyond commonplace kindnesses had passed 
between the elder ones. Richard felt utterly unable to say 
anything wiser or better than he had said many times before 
That had all proved useless. It might be his forbearance 
touched Robert. Certainly the tone was humble and earnest, 
with which he said, — 

“ Dear Dick, when I am gone, don’t quite hate me. I 
know I’ve tried your patience beyond forgiveness, but I wilt 
endeavor to be more worthy of your love in the future.” 

“ God give you strength to keep the resolve,” Richard 
responded, fervently. “ And when you think of the old 
home, remember there is not one heart but would ache at 
your misconduct, or rejoice over the slightest improvement. 
Think of the pure sisters growing up to wmmanhood ; of 
our dear, dead father ; and, above all, of the God whom we 
shall meet at the last day.” 

There were tears and kisses ; and as the steamer glided 
out of her dock, they all remembered the handsome face 
nodding a last adieu — bright in spite of the sorrow, spar- 
kling for all its tears. They were content to be grave and 
silent, and for once Richard had no words of comfort. He 
was thinking of another Saturday, when one had been taken 
from among them, and said to himself, “Weep not for the 


DK. BEKTRAND’s HOUSEHOLD 


135 


dead, but weep rather for him who goeth into a far country.” 
There were no lamentations to be made for him who was at 
rest in heaven, wisely taken from the evil to come. 

And so the first birdling went out of the home nest. If 
Richard had failed in any duty, he humbly prayed Grod to 
forgive him. 

With childish elasticity the younger ones soon recovered 
their spirits. California wasn’t quite out of the world, and 
Robert had promised to write by the first steamer. Lily 
collected a huge pile of books, and went to studying the 
topography of the golden land, declaring she had half a 
mind to go to California for a husband when she wanted one, 
as women were esteemed a luxury there. 

Several days passed before Richard could summon suffi- 
cient courage to go over the late distasteful events. Recon- 
sidering the subject, he was sorry he had not paid Mrs. 
Davis the whole sum at once, instead of thus giving her a 
claim upon him. In case of his death, discovery would be 
inevitable. It was best, therefore, to remedy the mistake 
as soon as possible. He shrank from a personal interview, 
but there was no other course ; so to New York he went. 

The place was easily found — a two and a half story brick 
house, unpainted and dingy looking ; the lower front win- 
dows decorated with sundry tokens of what one might expect 
within ; a door whose sash of glass was rendered impene- 
trable to curious eyes by a faded red curtain, and a rather 
more respectable side entrance. He opened the shop door, 
however, ascertaining by a glance that there were no cus- 
tomers on hand. 

It was an ordinary drinking saloon, with a beer countci 
and bar on one side, and several small tables ranged on the 
other, one of which contained the daily papers and a pack 
of soiled cards. There was an unpleasant odor of beer and 
tobacco ; but the flooi was freshly sanded, everything in 
tolerable order, and the mistress attired in much better taste 
than at the preceding interview. Her clean calico dress and 


136 


IN TRUST, OB 


apron, and her smoothly arranged hair, improved her won- 
derfully. 

“ 0, Dr. Bertrand ! G-ood mornin’, sir ; ” and then she 
paused from surprise, adding, presently, “ walk in here, 
sir ; I hope you’re well, and there’s nothing wrong.” 

“A slight matter of business merely. If you do not 
object, I think I would rather pay you the thousand dollars 
I became responsible for, and have the matter entirely 
settled.” 

She assented readily. Indeed, her eagerness for money dis- 
gusted him. While she was looking for the papers, he took 
a survey of the apartment. It was large and scrupulously 
clean ; but its old-fashioned furniture was eked out by some 
chalky plaster vases, with red and yellow fruit, and sundry 
pictures of fast horses, presidents, and female faces in 
various stages of beauty. 

“ She^s gone out to walk,” Mrs. Davis said, as if she con- 
sidered some conversation necessary. “ He told her she 
oughter, and his word always was law to her ; but you’ll 
wait and see her.” 

Bichard knew very well for whom the pronouns stood, and 
was thankful to be spared the interview. 

“ Of course she understands all connection with my brother 
is ended. You told her — ” 

“ No, I hain’t told her ; I couldn’t,” the woman interruj ted. 
“ She knows he’s gone to Californy, but she’s too good and 
too innocent to guess the rest. I wish to Heaven she’d 
never seen your brother ! Money won’t do everything ; ” 
and Mrs. Davis rocked to and fro in a despairing passion. 

Bichard glanced up in surprise at this outburst, and said, 
calmly, “ I wish her to be made aware of the fact. She has 
no further claims upon us now ; ” and handing Mrs. Davis a 
check, he took up his own note. 

“ I wish you’d stop and tell her yourself, if you think it 
so easy. He hadn’t the courage to ! 0, if she hadn’t loved 

him, and been so happy with him ! There she comes r> w.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


137 


Richard sat out of range of the door. Something like 
pride lighted the woman’s hard face, as a small, slight figure, 
clothed in a dr^ss and mantle of soft brown, that fell around 
her in graceful folds, entered the apartment. 

“ Mar’gret, this is Dr. Bertrand,” was the brief introduction. 

She turned her head. The bonnet that framed in the face 
was mostD white, with a few drooping pale pink buds, and 
strings of the same color tied underneath the exquisitely 
rounded chin. He had been used to fair, refined g^rlg all 
his life. In his fancy he had entertained a coarse, florid 
idea, with bold, handsome black eyes, red cheeks, and a 
saucy, piquant air, as belonging to this one. For a moment 
he held his breath. 

It was not a lofty, classic face, like Mabel’s ; nor arch, 
dazzling, and regular, like Lily’s. The features were child- 
ishly delicate, yet clearly cut; the forehead broad, with 
eyebrows that might have been pencilled by an artist ; large, 
soft, luminous eyes, with rays like a coming sunrise prisoned 
in their brown depths ; a transparent complexion, just re- 
lieved by the faintest peach bloom in the cheeks, and the 
ripe, red, beautifully curved mouth. There was a high-bred 
air about it that would not have shamed a princess of royal 
blood ; and yet so gentle, so beseeching and resistless, that 
it went to Richard’s heart at once. 

She glanced at him first in shy surprise ; then her lip 
quivered, her eyes drooped until the lashes made a long, 
rich fringe upon her cheeks, that were struggling with alter- 
nate paleness and flushing. He rose and took her hand with 
that courtesy natural to him, and then he remarked how 
small and faultlessly gloved it was, and that every article of 
her attire seemed to be a part of herself. 

The entrance of a customer caused Mrs. Davis’s hasty re 
l! eat. She elosed the door carefully behind her. 

Richard stood quite still, as if in a trance. Then he* 
noticed how the slight figure trembled as she said, depre- 
cat \ngly, — 


12 * 


138 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ Are you very, very angry ? ” 

The supplicating voice had a peculiar girlish ring and 
richness. It made one think of wafts of meadow wind, 
freighted with the drowsy, musical hum of bird and bee, as 
they float homeward in purple twilight. 

“ Angry ? ” he repeated, as if making a confused and 
ineffectual effort to remember how she had sinned against 
him. 

“ I did not know then how wrong it was for him to marry 
me. I could only think how dearly we loved one another; 
but it has all failed — he does not care for me now ; ” and 
the sigh with which the words ended beaded the golden- 
brown lashes with tears. 

He forgot his just indignation, his distaste of her sur- 
roundings. Truth and honor were written on that broad 
white forehead — the nobleness of an unstained soul. 

“ My poor, poor child ! it is you who are the injured 
one ; ” and he drew her tenderly to a seat beside him on 
the wooden settle. 

“ Mother said you were so — displeased ; and — I suppose 
I was not good enough for Kobert.” The sweet voice sank 
to a desolate pathos. 

“ Not good enough ! 0 child ! if he had been as pure 

and true ! It is you who have been sinned against, not he.” 

She suffered her mantle to fall loosely around her shoul- 
ders, and laid her bonnet entirely aside, displaying an abun- 
dance of satin smooth brown hair, gathered at the back in a 
coil of braids. 

He wanted to hear her voice again ; therefore said, kindly, 
“ Will you tell me your own story ? ” 

She glanced up in his face with a little shiver, mistaking 
its gravity for sternness. Robert had inspired her with a 
fear of this all-potent elder brother, and Mrs. Davis’s account 
of him was not of a nature to allay her apprehensions. But 
the thought that he had a right to know gave her courage ; 
?i) she began, tremulously : — 


DR. BERTRAI^^d's household. 


139 


Last winter, one evening, a sleigh-riding paity came 
here for supper. Barbara Chrisler, the girl who used to 
assist mother evenings, was ill, and had to go home ; so I 
came down stairs to wait upon them. There were only four, 
and they had their supper in here. I liked Bobert best, 
because he didn’t stare at me, and was less boisterous. 
When they came to cards and wine I went away. A few 
days after this, as I was coming from school, Bobert met 
me. He was so pleasant I could not help talking ; and 
when we came in, mother seemed real pleased. She is not 
my own mother, but has always been so good to me — only 
when she wanted me to stay in the shop, I couldn’t ; ” and 
a deep flush overspread the fair face. “ At Christmas he 
sent me some beautiful books ; and as I sat in this room, 
generally, evenings, studying my lessons, he used to come 
in. It was very delightful. He wanted to take me out, but 
■mother would not let him. I did not care, though ; I was so 
happy I did not want anything more. I don’t know how it 
came, but after a while we loved one another. It was so 
sweet ! No one had ever loved me before. I had been so 
solitary, for mother was always busy with the shop, and 
Barbara used to tease me, and the school-girls laughed 
about my living in a beer-shop. I couldn’t seem to help 
giving my whole heart to Bobert.” 

A tender, satisfied light came into her eyes, as, drawing a 
long breath, she paused. There was a beauteous, vivid life 
in every lineament, a womanly depth and consciousness, that 
thrilled him as not even Mabel’s half- whispered confidences 
bad donB. 

“He wanted to be married,” she continued, as a warm 
crimson flushed her face. “ He and mother talked it all 
over. He said his family were rich and proud, and would 
try to keep him from marrying any one who was poor. He 
wasn’t but little over twenty, and said he couldn’t wait a 
year for the right to call me all his, and have me constantly 
with him ; so mother consented to a private marriage. She 


140 


IN TRUST, OR 


let me Lave one of the rooms up stairs, and we had such a 
nice time settling furniture and arranging everything ! We 
were married the last of February. I couldn’t think of any- 
thing, only that Eobert loved me. I was to be his always — 
to be petted and caressed, and feel safe beside him. I liked 
belonging to him. Was it very wrong ? ” 

She glanced up fearfully. He took the small hand in his, 
and said, with deep feeling, “ No ; it was not wrong for you 
to give your whole heart to your husband.” 

“ All the spring we were so happy ! He used to take me 
out walking and driving, and when summer came, we went 
to the country for brief journeys that were very delightful. 
He couldn’t live here all the time, you know ; and I used to 
count the hours when he was away with such a strange feel- 
ing ! It was all like a poem or a story, until he began to 
bring his friends up stairs to play cards. Sometimes they 
would stay until midnight. At first I used to leave them, 
for I didn’t like to hear their conversation ; but when I 
found it vexed Eobert, I remained in the room and read, 
with my face turned from them. 

“ Then he took to staying away for days together. I 
used to cry at first, I felt so lonesome ; and he would pet me, 
and try to laugh me out of my foolishness, as he called it. 
Afterwards he grew stern, and frightened me by his strange 
ways. One night he told me I was a troublesome baby, and 
no comfort to him ; so I tried very hard then not to cry, 
and always to be pleasant. Mother said men seldom loved 
their wives so well when it grew to be an old story. It 
seems hard, for we love them better and better every 
day. I did not tell mother when he was cross to me. 1 
felt as if I could not have any one know it ; but at last she 
guessed, and they had a quarrel. He was very angry when 
he came up stairs, swore at me, and said ‘ he was a fool to 
take me ; that he might have known I would hang to him 
forever, and there would be no getting rid of me.’ The 
words rang in my ears after he went away. I could not 


DH. BERTKANd’s household, 


141 


ileep ; I could only pray that, if he was really tired of me, I 
might die. 

“ He was very good when he came next time. I couldn’t 
halp loving him, but somehow it did not seem the glad 
old love. T trembled when he spoke hastily to me, and 
feh afraid all the time. I could see he was wearying 
of me, and my heart grew sick with intense pain. He 
brought me no more fruit or pretty gifts, and seemed impa- 
tient to get away, but was never so cross again. Sunday, 
a week ago, was the last time I saw him. He was kind and 
gentle, and said he had business that would take him off 
for several weeks. I must not get lonesome in his absence, 
but read, and walk, and keep cheerful. I had been so de- 
pressed and miserable that even this failed to touch me. I 
felt no more solitary at the thought of his going quite away 
than I had with his brief, hurried visits of late. My heart 
was so cold I could not hope for anything. Mother came 
up afterwards, and asked me what he had said ; so I told 
her. She was angry at him, but I begged her not to do 
any rash thing. Since she could not make him love me 
again, all the rest was useless. 

‘‘ Saturday of that week she told me he had deserted me, 
and gone to California ; that it wasn’t at all likely I should 
ever see him again, but he had made some provision for 
me. She spoke of her visit to you. I felt then all was 
over ; that love, and happiness, and bright dreams could 
never be mine again. 0, if I could have known this before 
I married him ! ” 

How utterly dreary and despairing was the pathos of her 
voice ! The radiant light that had made her face so en- 
chanting, a short time before, had faded into gray ashiness. 
The very features sharpened over thoughts of heart-sicK 
agoiij that she could not repeat even to this kind listener. 

He wanted to gather the trembling little figure to hia 
heart, to shelter her, comfort her, take her to some place of 
rest where peaceful days might shut out the memory of this 


142 


IN TETTST, OR 


miserabl-e past. Not any older than Lily, perhaps ; and he 
shivered at the thought of his sister’s passing through such 
a fearful ordeal. She was not less refined and sensitive, 
for ?]\ her surroundings had been hard and coarse to vul- 
c<ar’^ 3 ^ She had passed through the fire unharmed. Look- 
ng ia her pure face, where there was not a thought to 
:*onceal, or the ability so to do, he mentally resolved to 
rliield her from all future ill. 

“ My poor little girl,” he said, with the grand tenderness 
i^he children at home knew so well, “ your summer has been 
brief indeed. I want you to forget all that passed between 
your mother and myself. I did not know the whole story 
then, and judged hastily. I cannot make you entirely happy, 
but 1 can share some of your burdens — be a brother to you. 
Will 3 ^ou trust me ? ” 

She could not instantly divest herself of fear. His prac- 
tised eye detected the feverish expectation of rebuke, sweep- 
ing through her veins with its poisonous thrill of distrust. 
Her cheeks glittered with an unwholesome scarlet, and the 
\ittle hands he took in his were hot with painfully throb- 
bing pulses. 

“ You must trust me,” he resumed, in a low, assuring 
tone. “ I will strive to do what I can for you. Life will 
be sad enough at the best, and you need a true friend sorely. 
Would you like to go away from here?” he asked, with a 
sudden thought. 

“ 0, so much ! But where could I go ?” she responded, 
wearily. 

“ I may find some pleasant place. You are tired, and 
must not talk any more. I shall come again soon, and we 
will plan a little for the future. Will you try to be cheerful ? ” 

“ Thank you; you are so kind ! ” and her eyes filled with 
tears. 

He had some comfort to give with his farewell — some 
words of peace to soothe her troubled soul. Then he 
walked slowly out into the shop. 


DS. BEBTBAKB'S HOtTSEHOLD. 


143 


CHAPTEK XYI. 

Yet, O yet thyself deceive not ; 

Love may sink by slow decay; 

But by sudden wrench believe not 
Hearts can thus be torn away. 

Bykon. 

Mrs. Davis was leaning on her elbows, gazing into va- 
cancy. She raised her eyes when Richard approached, and 
said, with a significant sneer, “ Well, did you tell her ? ” 

In spite of his effort for mastery, his face flushed, as he 
answered with a negative motion, instead of speaking. 

“ I thought you couldn’t. She ain’t like other folks. I 
used to think her the queerest child when she wouldn’t play 
with anybody, and kept to her high notions in spite of all I 
could do. She’s good to the back-bone, too good for a place 
like this. I wasn’t goin’ to stand by and see your brother 
fool her, though I’ll bet he couldn’t. But it’s a sorry, sorry 
thing that she ever listened to him at all ; and careful as I 
was, the scamp outwitted me. I’ve about made up my mind 
to say nothin’ now ; mebbe her child won’t live ; and when 
she’s older, ’n don’t care so much for liim^ it won’t come so 
hard.” 

There was some vulgar wisdom in this. But Dr. Bertrand 
caught at another fact. “ She’s not your own child,” he 
said, with a blessed sense of relief. 

“ No, but I’d fight for her jest as soon as if she was. I 
don’t believe any child of mine could have been so good or 
so han’some. A long spell ago I loved her father. If you 
ftin’t in a hurry I’ll tell you how I come to have her.” 


144 


IK TRUST, OB 


He seated himself, and motioned her to proceed, feeling a 
deeper interest in the story than he would have cared to own. 

“ You see, when I was a gal, we lived at Yarmouth, on 
Barnstable shore. I hadn’t any father ’n mother, and spun 
for a livin’. I was young and high steppin’, good lookin’ 
too, folks said, for my skin was white, and my cheeks red, 
and my hair black and shiny as satin. I used to go to all 
the frolics and dances ; could keep up all night, and do my 
stint next day without a bit o’ blinkin’. 

“ There was a young man used to go off fishin* every 
year, that I set great store by. His name was Seth Tre- 
maine, and his mother used to keep house alone when he 
was gone. Mis’ Tremaine and I never quite hitched horses ; 
she was kinder religious, and thought me hity-tity, and all 
that ; but I didn’t mind, long as Seth liked me. One fall 
there was a wreck on the coast, and Seth saved a gal about 
like Aer,” nodding to the adjoining apartment. “ All her 
friends was lost, and no one wanted her ; so Mis’ Tremaine 
took her. She hadn’t any child but Seth, and ’twas wonder- 
ful how she loved that gal. She was a pale little thing, with 
yellow hair, and jest sich skin as Mar’gret’s. Her hands ’n 
feet wasn’t bigger than a baby’s, and her talkin’ was jest 
like other folks singin’. Mar’gret’s got a goo-d deal of her 
voice. 

“ Next spring Seth and me began to talk o’ gettin’ mar- 
ried. I wasn’t willin’ to go live with Mis’ Tremaine ; so Seth, 
he went off agin, to get enough money, with what he had, to 
build a house. I worked like a bee that summer, and was 
chipper as a cricket ; ruther gay too, for I was fond o’ com- 
pany, and didn’t see any sense in mopin’, because I couldn’t 
have Seth always at my elbow. 

Next winter, somehow, Seth and me didn’t get along so 
well. He was jealous and bossy, and I was too high strung 
to let any man trample on me. But the worst of it come 
one night at a frolic. I’d been spinnin’ for Mis’ Brown, and 
her son Hiram was cuttin’ round after me. It made Seth 


Dfi. Bertrand’s hot^sehold. 


145 


mad to see him dancin’ and enjoyin’ himself with me? ; so he 
said, kinder short, ‘ he was tired of the foolin’, and wanted 
to take me home.’ I told him I could have company any 
time, and wasn’t goin’ till the fun was over. He spunked 
right up, and we had a reg’lar quarrel, and he told me I 
might take Hi, and keep him, for there was an end of all 
Del ween us. 

“ I knew Seth loved me, and thought he’d come round all 
right afore long, so I wasn’t down-hearted. He started off 
to Nantucket to his uncle’s, and I went to the north side to 
spin ; so I never see him for three weeks, an’ then it was 
Sunday, when he come in church with his mother an’ Elfy. 

“ I declare ! I thought I should ’a turned into stone that 
mornin’. The parson read the banns between Elfy Howard 
and Seth Tremaine. I’d never dreamed o’ sich a thing ! 
But I held out, and was as high-headed as you please till I 
got home, when I had a good cry. I felt as if I couldn’t 
have it so ; I was willin’ then to say anything if ’twould ’a 
brought him back. But I wasn’t going to be laughed at ; so 
I acted afore folks jest as though I didn’t care. 

“ Between daylight and dark one night, I run into a sick 
neighbor’s to tidy up the house a little. Seth Tremaine come 
with some things his marm had sent. I couldn’t say much, 
and waited a spell for him to go ; but when I found he didn’t, 
I started myself. Jest as if he’d been waitin’ for that, he 
got up and offered to see me home. I told him ’twasn’t 
wuth while ; but he put my arm in his, as if I hadn’t spoken 
a word, and we walked together silent as the grave. I 
couldn’t help thinkin’ that next Sunday he was to be mar- 
ried to that pale little thing of an Elfy. So, as we was pail- 
in’ at the gate, I said, I hoped he would be happy ; but the 
words a’most choked me, and I couldn’t keep the tears from 
my eyes. He turned my face round suddenly ; it was moon- 
light, and he couldn’t help seein’ all ! 

“ ‘ Marg’ret,’ says he, — and his voice had a strange, cold 
sound, — ‘why didn’t you have some tears ready a month ago ? 

13 


146 


IN TRUST, OK 


Why didn’t you say then you loved me ? ’Twould ’a saved 
us both a world of trouble.’ 

“ After a little* he went on to tell me how he come to ask 
Elfy. His mother never ’d like me very much, and was so 
bound up in Elfy, she coaxed him to marry her. He found 
out too that the gal loved him, and somehow it all come 
round, and his mother set a weddin’ day right off. He 
didn’t say he loved me best, but I knew it without any tellin’. 
He wasn’t a man to go back from his word, though ; so on 
Sunday they was married, and the next night his mother 
give ’em a great weddin’. 

“ I couldn’t stay at Yarmouth ; so I come to New York to 
visit an uncle I had here. He was sick and kinder cross- 
grained, and aunt was glad enough to have me stay and help 
take care of him. She was always on the go with a son she’d 
had by her first marriage, and I felt sorry for the poor old 
man. After a spell he grew so fond o’ me, he didn’t want 
any one else to come near him ; and when he died, he left me 
five hundred dollars. I’d been with him four years. A«nt 
wanted me to marry her son ; but he was a poor coot, and 
fond o’ drink in the bargain. I didn’t like him, and wouldn’t 
have him ; so we had a spat, and I felt I must look out for a 
new home. That very evenin’ a gentleman called to see me. 
I went down to the parlor, wonderin’ who it could be, and 
was clear beat to find Seth Tremaine. 

“ He was dreadful thin and pale. I knowed right off some- 
thing ’d happened. He told me he’d seen lots of trouble. 
A year before, his house had took fire and burned down in 
the dead of winter, and they’d all jest escaped with their 
lives. His marm died a fortnight afterwards ; his little boy 
took cold, but lingered along until spring, when he died too. 
Elfy had a baby a few weeks old at the time of the fire, and 
she’d never been right smart ; but after the death of the little 
boy, she pined away, and for two months Seth had been 
alone with his little gal, who was called Mar’gret, after me. 
T coulcVt help feelin’ kind towards Elfy when I heard that 


DK. BEKTBAND’s HOUSEHOLB. 


147 


Tain’t every woman that would ’a named a child after hei 
husband’s old love ! 

“ Seth was goin’ to China now, for three years, as first 
mate. The ship was layin’ at New York, and wouldn’t be 
ready under a fortnight ; so he thought he’d hunt me up, as 
he knew my uncle’s name. We had a good long talk, and 
then he come agin the next day, and told me he wished Td 
take his little gal and keep her till he got back. He said it 
wasn’t no time to talk of marryin’ now, with Elfy hardly 
cold in her grave ; but that we was the ones that should ’a 
been together from the first, and if God spared him to come 
back, I should be his wife. I was glad, I tell you ! It 
seemed like the old times cornin’, for you see I’d never loved 
any one but Seth. 

“ While he was gone after his baby, I thought I’d hunt up 
a quiet boardin’ place. Aunt was mad as a March hare when 
she heard what I was goin’ to do, and called me all the fools 
in the world. Round the corner from our house there was 
a little shop kept by an old woman everybody called Aunty 
Dean. She was a good, clever soul, and I went to see if she 
knew of any place that might suit me. She said she had a 
spare room, and would be glad to take me in for company ; 
so I picked up my traps and went there ; and when Seth 
come back with his baby, he was real glad to find me so com- 
fortable. He would make me take some money, and prom- 
ised to send more when he wrote. I felt mightily pleased 
(o see him lookin’ so cheerful before he went away. 

“ Marg’ret was jest like a little doll. She never cried, 
and soon got fond of me and Aunty Dean. I was happy as 
a bird all them two years, gettin’ letters now and then, and 
helpin’ ’tend shop and sewin’. Then I began to count on 
Seth’s cornin’ home. I didn’t get any letter for a long while, 
but I knew he was true as steel, and kept from frettin’ 
The baby was a great comfort to me. I believe I was fond 
of it as if it had been my own. One day as I was wonderin’, 
Aunty Dean said, — 


148 


IN TRUST, OB 


“ ‘ Td go to the shippin* house, if I was you, and see if 
they’d heard anything.’ 

I started off. It was a bright, shiny day, and I couldn’t 
believe there was bad news in store for me ; so I asked up, 
chipper as you please. The men looked at each other, and 
one of ’em said, — 

“ ‘ Why, didn’t you know Seth Tremaine was lost when the 
\igos was wrecked ? ’ 

The whole world went round for a minute. I seemed 
Slone blind. Then he went on to say that, three months be- 
fore, the Argos had been wrecked, an’ most all on board 
were lost. Some one saw the cap’n an’ the mate go down 
together. It didn’t seem a bit true at first, and I went on 
watchin’ for him ; but when three years and four years was 
gone, I gave up, and got low-spirited. I couldn’t care for 
anything. Then Aunty Dean took sick, and I nursed her for 
a long while, keepin’ house and shop ; but Marg’ret was such 
a handy little thing, she helped more’n she hindered. When 
Aunty Dean died, she left me five hundred dollars ; and then 
I begun to think over agin what I must do, for you see I had 
Marg’ret to take care of an’ eddicate. Her father had put all 
his money in the ship, and that was lost as well as him. So 
I come up here, and found this house for sale cheap, and 
bought it. There wasn’t anything I could do besides keep 
shop, and the woman who lived up stairs advised me to sell 
liquor, as it was a good deal better business than thread and 
needles. 

“Marg’ret was eight years old then. I don’t know \^hat 
come over the child. She was smart enough, and minded 
all I told her ; but if any one in the shop chucked her under 
the chin, or called her han’som, she’d cry as if her heart was 
broken. She seemed too good for common folks ; and when 
I scolded her, she’d look up with Jest sich eyes as her father’s, 
and I couldn’t say a word. But it was an awful bother to 
tne, f)r I couldn’t stir a step without gettin’ some one to 
some in an’ stay; and I found she wasn’t goiiT to be the slight- 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


149 


est help to me as she grew up, she was so ’fraid of bein' 
looked at. All she cared for was her books. So when she 
and your brother fell so desputly in love, I thought mebbe 
the best thing I could do would be to let ’em marry. She 
was good enough for any man, if she wasn’t rich.” 

Dr. Bertrand understood what she would have been 
ashamed to put in words — that she had begun to consider 
Margaret a burden. Yet she had dealt nobly with her rival’s 
child, simply because she was a link between her old lover 
and herself ; for there could be no true assimilation between 
such widely dilferent characters. As the romance of her early 
womanhood became blunted by coarse contact with the world, 
her nature had hardened, lost its innate consciousness of 
better things, while the child had increased in refinement 
and purity. Yet it was like finding a dove in the nest of a 
hawk. 

“ Would you be willing to part with her if you kniw she 
was well taken care of ? ” he asked. 

“ I’ve been thinkin’ about boardin’ her away somewhere. 
This ain’t jest the place for her, and she don’t like it; besides, 
I can’t take care of a family. I’m goin’ to get a gal to ’tend 
shop, and her mother wants that room up stairs ; so I think 
you’d be doin’ a kindness to take her away. But I’m bound 
to see her well treated, for she’s got money enough to last 
a while, anyhow.” 

“ I will call again in a few days,” was his abrupt an- 
nouncement. “ In the mean while, say nothing about her 
unfortunate marriage. Good morning ; ” and he turned into 
the street. 

A sensation of relief stole over him, a mingled emotion 
of pleasure and pain ; and then, as his thoughts recurred to 
Robert, a total revulsion of feeling swept over him. He had 
considered him foolishly wicked before ; now it was the 
blackest treachery. The woman’s unwise haste to rid her- 
self of Margaret had made the path easier ; but what must 
he be who could betray this innocent child so cruelly, when 

13 ^ 


150 


IN TRUST, OR 


she had laid her heart at his feet in all the honor and truth 
of pure womanhood ? 

He was thankful she did not love Eobert with the absorb- 
ing passion of her first dreams. She would sufi’er less in the 
dreary desolation that lay before her. She was still a child. 
What might have proved a strong and lasting regard had 
been checked by coldness and neglexjt ; and when the thor- 
ough woman in her woke to active being, her heart would 
have some blighted leaves in its unfolding, but nothing that 
would need hold her back from any new joy God might send. 
He could not tell why this should comfort him ; he only knew 
it did, and accepted the fact unquestioningly. Yet, as he 
walked slowly down Broadway, revolving these thoughts in 
his mind, he did not feel quite conscience-clear. He had 
been weak, hasty, and partial — glad to think money could 
absolve Eobert from all claims. Unwittingly he had helped 
the betrayer against the betrayed. His heart smote him 
bitterly. Was it indeed too late ? 0, if he could persuade 

Eobert to return for one brief act of justice ! 

Under any circumstances Mother Davis’s was no proper 
place for Margaret. He must provide a new home with some 
one whose kindness and discretion were undoubted — out of 
the reach of idle gossip, yet not too far from him. He could 
not yield her entirely to stranger hands. Who would take 
a motherly interest in this poor, friendless child ? 

For several days he revolved the perplexing subject. Mabel 
wondered to see him so entirely pre-occupied. But he had 
never been tenderer to the children. 

Some conversation he was holding with a patient one day 
concerning a nurse, recalled to his mind a lady his father had 
placed great confidence in — a childless widow, who had for- 
merly supported herself by attending the sick. About the 
time of Dr. Bertrand’s death she had removed to a pretty 
country place, in order to take care of her father-in-law, who 
nad been left entirely alone by the death of his last daughter. 
She possessed one of those full, cheerful natures that invari- 


DB. Bertrand’s household. 


151 


ably carry sunshine with them at every step. He had called 
occasionally at the little cottage, when business took him in 
that direction, for Mr. Wilcox was both old and infirm. He 
knew, too, that the daughter-in-law eked out her small in- 
come by taking a boarder or two in the summer. The season 
would be over now, and he might persuade her to take charge 
of Margaret. She would be trusty and kind ; the place was 
secluded, yet with Mrs. Wilcox one could hardly be lone- 
some. It was worth trying, at all events. 


152 


IN TRUST, OB 


CHAPTEK XVII. 

O sweet, pale Margaret ! 

O rare, pale Margaret ! 

What lit your eyes with tearful power, 

Like moonlight on a falling shower? 

Who lent you, lov^e, your mortal dower ? 

Tennyson. 

The sun was going westward as Dr. Bertrand rode 
through the main street of the pretty town of Orange, 
turned to the right, and passed Llewellyn Park, whose 
short, crisp grass and groups of beautiful trees were tinted 
with the tawny hues of an autumn sunset. The bright yel- 
lows and flaming reds of the ripening leaves gave a warm 
coloring to the lovely landscape. He only glanced at it ; in 
his heart rang an echo of cool, sweet tones, more musical 
than this plashing wayside brook ; and the vision of a sad, 
tender face came between him and this dreamy beauty. 

He turned down a by-road, and soon paused before a lit- 
tle tasteful cottage, almost hidden by two giant sycamores, 
through which you caught glimpses of a pointed roof and a 
vine-covered porch. There 'was a small front yard, gay 
with late flowers of brilliant beauty ; and a wide piazza at 
the side, with two entrances — one nearly in the centre, the 
other at the farther end. 

He fastened his horse, and walked up the path, bordered 
with scarlet geraniums. Old Mr. Wilcox sat in the hall, 
his withered hands clasped over the head of his cane. His 
face was placid, and his kind blue eyes still shone with 
human interest, though the silver of nearly fourscore years 
rested on his straggling locks. 

“ Good evening. Dr. Bertrand. I’m glad to see you 


DB. BEBTBANd’s household. 


153 


once again ; ” and he shook hands, warmly, calling, a mo- 
ment after, “ Mary ! ” 

Mrs. Wilcox answered the summons. Fair, rosy, and 
well kept, with a genial face and hearty, pleasing voice. 

“ Why, Dr. Bertrand, what a surprise ! You are a great 
stranger ; ” and she placed a chair for him. 

There was some general conversation, which happened to 
turn at length on the fine season it had been for fruit ; and 
Mr. Wilcox proposed Mary should take the doctor through 
the garden, and see if she could not find a peach or a pear 
for him. He rose with alacrity. 

“ Father is childish about the garden,” she exclaimed, 
with a smile. “ But we have done remarkably well with it 
this summer.” 

“ I am obliged to him for sending us out,” Bichard re- 
turned. “ I wanted to see you particularly, and ask a great 
favor.” 

“ A favor r ” she repeated, in surprise. 

“ Yes ; are your boarders gone ? ” 

“ They leave next week. Old Mrs. McLean is very fee- 
ble. I doubt if she ever comes again.” 

“ Would you object to having any one through the winter ?” 

“ 0 dear, no. Winter is a lonely time with me. I can’t 
leave father, except to run into the nearest neighbor’s, and 
sometimes I feel quite lost. My old life used to be so 
busy ! ” 

“ I must tell my story first, and then trust your kindness 
There is scarcely any one else I could apply to, except i\ 
perfect stranger.” Then, after a long pause, he simply 
said, “ Bobert was privately married last February,” and 
gave the main incidents of neglect and desertion. He spoke 
touchingly of Margaret — her youth, her friendlessness, 
her unfavorable surroundings, and the urgent necessity of 
her being in good hands ; ending with, “ It would be utterly 
impossible for me to take her home at this juncture, even if 
I wanted to/’ 


154 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ Even if he wanted to ! ” That, to Mrs. Wilcox, implied 
bis unwillingness. She fancied she understood Dr. Ber- 
trand’s feelings. Bobert’s wife was not just the woman he 
cared to have on an equality with his sisters, but his gener- 
ous disposition would not allow him to act in the heartless 
manner Robert had. Her pity was deeply stirred, and after 
a few perplexing revolutions of her mind, she said, — 

“ Yes ; I think I could take her.” 

The expression of relief in Richard’s face repaid her. 

“ Thank you a thousand times ! ” he exclaimed, warmly. 
“ I wish you could see her first ; but, believe me, it will be 
quite impossible not to take her to your heart at once.” 

“ Your recommendation is amply sufficient. I only hope 
she will be satisfied.” 

“ I can answer for her. When may she come ? ” 

“ The 1st of October, if she pleases. And your frequent 
visits will be a decided comfort. Indeed,” she continued, 
warming with her subject, since she had resolved upon it, 
“ you may set your heart entirely at rest about the secret. 
Her coming from New York will cover all questions ; and I 
have no very curious acquaintances here.” 

“ You have done me an invaluable kindness,” Richard 
said, in a heartfelt tone. “You are sharing a great bur- 
den with me.” 

So the next morning he went to New York with a lighter 
heart. His impatience to see Margaret was so great that 
he could hardly endure settling the preliminaries with Mrs. 
Davis, though she readily relinquished Margaret to his care. 

He hurried up stairs to the child’s room. How neat and 
aultless its appointments were ! The daintily flowered car- 
pet, the light, graceful chairs, a red and white willow work- 
stand, books and pictures ; nothing very costly, but all things 
evincing true and elegant taste. And there was Margaret, 
robed in a French print, with pale tinted ground and minut- 
est flowers in lovely coloring. At the throat Rnd wrists it 
was relieved with soft ruffles, and instead of a brooch, she 


DK. BEKTRANd’s household. 


155 


a deep, velvety rose and bud. Her hair \^as smooth 
and glossy ; her feet, in tiny rosetted slippers, seemed the 
extreme of neatness. There was such a regard for finish in 
detail about her, that Richard wondered how she had man- 
aged to retain her love of order and beauty in this place. 

She was shy and distant this morning. Indeed, she could 
not divest herself of a feeling that Dr. Bertrand was dis- 
pleased, and justly so, at her imprudent marriage with his 
brother. Mr^ Davis’s present haste to consign her to other 
hands wounded her deeply. From the grave face before 
her she judged every duty would be steadfastly performed, 
and having brought this sorrow and care upon him, all she 
could do was to acquiesce in his arrangements. She listened 
with quiet deference, and passively assented, without imagin- 
ing regard as w^ell as duty actuated him. It was not pos- 
sible, she thought, for him to do more than forgive her ; so, 
wrapping herself in the garment of humiliation, she took up 
her cross in silence, the pathetic wail of another burdened 
soul floating through hers with the pitiful cry, — 

“ O, do whate’er thou wilt ! 1 will be silent.” 

Dr. Bertrand misunderstood her resignation, and felt a 
little disappointed. She, too, failed to read in his grave 
face the almost boundless kindness of his heart. So the 
interview was not as pleasant as the former one. But he 
was more than ever anxious to have her under Mrs. Wil- 
cox’s care. 

The brief interval before her departure always seemed 
like a dream to Margaret. She scarcely crossed the thresh- 
old of the room where she had learned those strange, 
terrible lessons — love, trust betrayed, hopes blighted and 
broken ; the solitary anguish of the soul that cries through 
black, bitter midnight, receiving no response ; the cruel, 
lingering death of the heart’s first sweet bliss. For she felt 
love was indeed dead. Stranger hands would take him out 
to his burial when she left this room ; yet, until then, she 


156 


IN TRUST, OR 




could cast regretful glances in the narrow coffin. She 
neither longed for, nor expected, Robert’s return. As she 
took down the pictures, she remembered the white, firm 
hands that had hung them, soft fingers that had threaded 
her hair, or held captive her little face until she kissed her 
way out to freedom. And here he had written in her books, 
“ Margaret,” “ Maggie,” “ Madge.” How beautifully clear 
and bold the letters were ! It was like looking over relics 
of the dead ; and when they were all packed, she experi- 
enced the desolate sensation of one after a funeral. 

Mrs. Davis was to accompany them to Orange. Much ^s 
Dr. Bertrand disliked it, he considered it a duty, and re- 
solved to perform his part pleasantly. But his brow con- 
tracted when she attired herself in a light gay-colored shawl, 
whose glaring flowers startled him. 

As if Margaret read the thought, she remarked, quietly, — 

“ I think I would wear the brown one, mother; it is a 
chilly day, and that will not be warm enough.” 

“ La, child, how you do like that dull old thing ! This 
is a sight han’somer ; ” but nevertheless she made the ex- 
change. 

Margaret was unexceptionable. Her paleness showed 
through her veil, and her voice sounded unnatural ; but her 
step did not waver. Mrs. Davis was chief conversationalist, 
and Richard felt thankful the journey was not long, and thai 
he met no acquaintances. 

Mrs. Wilcox’s flower-garden was still in bloom, but the 
path rustled with ^llen leaves. Some tempting purple 
clusters remained on the grape-vine, and a hardy scarlet- 
runner clung to the porch in all its glory of bright berries. 
The mistress met them on the piazza, and was too well-bred 
to make any distinction in her greeting. She had Marga- 
ret’s trunks sent immediately to her room, and ushering the 
others into the parlor, said, in a low tone, to her, “ Would 
you like to take a glimpse of your new abode while you are 
laying off your bonnet and cloak ? 


157 




DR.^BEIITRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


Margaret followed her guide. The room was large, with 
two windows fronting the street, and two overlooking the 
porch, and from thence the garden below. The walls were 
cov^ed with tasteful paper, the snowy curtains drawn back 
by crimson cords : a pretty lounge in damask, a low rocking 
chair, and the French bedstead, with its pure white belong- 
ings, first attracted her glance. The door of the little stove 
was partially open, and the ruddy glow of coals shone out 
warmly, giving a sense of home-like comfort. 

“ Let me assist you,” Mrs. Wilcox exclaimed, anxious for 
a nearer view of the face hidden behind the veil. “ I hope 
you will like your new home. I shall do everything in my 
power to make it happy for you.” 

“ Thank you. You are very kind,” Margaret managed 
to say, as she raised her pleading, timid eyes, swimming in 
tears, in spite of her efforts at self-control. 

“ My poor child ! ” Mrs. Wilcox’s sympathy rushed out 
with the fond, motherly clasp, that pillowed Margaret’s 
throbbing temples on her bosom. “ You are tired and 
frightened. Presently weTl have a cup of tea, and a nice, 
cheerful talk. Then, if you like. I’ll help you unpack. I 
want to be your friend as much for your own sake as for 
Dr. Bertrand’s, though I have known him many a long 
year.” 

Margaret pressed a yearning, convulsive kiss on the hands 
that enfolded her. Mrs. Wilcox substituted her warm face 
instead, and returned the caress fondly. 

“ Now, I will show you about a littl^’ she said, cheerily, 
as she remarked the almost hysteric sob that half strangled 
Margaret. “Here is your wardrobe; and here,” — opening 
the door to another closet, — “you will find all washing con- 
veniences. I suppose we may as well leave everything until 
your friends are gone, however.” 

Dr. Bertrand would have been surprised had he seen 
>h'! effort of Margaret’s mental nature "jo rule the physical. 
A stratum of subtle strength ran through this fine soul, like 
14 


158 


IN TRUST, OR 


flame coior in an opal, visible only in certain lights. It 
was susceptibility, and not weakness, that made her choose 
silence; a knowledge that the external breakdown would be 
more painful to her tense nerves, than this inward anguish 
that was torturing her soul wdth inquisitorial pangs. Her 
deepest feelings shrank from witnesses. 

“ Will you please send Mrs. Davis up,” she asked, when 
she could steady her voice. “ I think it would gratify her 
to see my room ; and they have only a few moments, as they 
wish to catch the return train.” 

Mrs. Wilcox obeyed her behest immediately. 

“ Well, I declare ! ” and the voice sounded coarser than 
ever, amid these quiet surroundings, as Mrs. Davis took a 
survey ; “ you’ve got everything nice and slick — hain’t you ? 
and your landlady seems a proper clever creetur. It’s 
enough sight nicer than the shop ; that never did seem the 
place for you ! I hope you’ll be contented. But, Marg’ret, 
if things don’t go straight, or Dr. Bertrand gets offish, 
you can come back any time ; it’s your home when you want 
it. I’ve tried to be a mother to you, but we wasn’t made 
alike.” 

You have been very kind, I am sure.” 

If your father ’d lived, ’twould all ’a been different. I 
shouldn’t worked so hard, and might ’a had time to smart 
up, and be a lady. But land ! it’s all spilt milk. And here’s 
suthin’ for you — the money Dr. Bertrand give me. You 
hold on to it, child ; it’s two thousand dollars and over.” 

Margaret drew back, and said, with loftiness, “ Give it 
t>ack to /im.” 

“ He hain’t no business whatever with it. It’s best to 
keep a close watch over your own. Nobody knows jest 
what’s before ’em ; ” and she crowded the money into Mar- 
garet’s hand. 

I s’pose it’s about time for us to start. Now, keep chip- 
per, and don’t get humsick ; and if you want anything o’ me. 
jeat write a line.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


159 


“ Thank you. And you must come to see me.” 

“ It’s kinder hard for me to get away, you know ; but I’ll 
eome in a minute if you send for me.” 

They went down stairs together. Richard lo( ked quite 
cheerful. Mrs. Wilcox's account had been better than he 
hoped for, and very satisfactory. The farewells were neces- 
sarily brief. 

As they were riding back to the depot, Mrs. Davis re- 
lieved her mind of its last charges. Glad as she was to shift 
her burden into other hands, her conscience demanded full- 
est satisfaction from Margaret’s new protector, and it was 
cheerfully given. 

Margaret lingered at the window long after the sound of 
wheels had died away. Her pale face drooped and grew 
inexpressibly mournful, as the new sense of desolation stole 
over her. Every tie of past life had been rudely broken. 
She was among strangers, and the existence lying before 
her must of necessity be different from anything her narrow 
experience had yet met with. She appeared floating out on 
a dim, uncertain sea, with no guide. 

Mrs. Wilcox came in with some fragrant tea. It was her 
great panacea. Then she proposed they should go at the 
unpacking, and bustled about with good-natured solicitude, 
just sufiicient to keep Margaret from relapsing into entire 
silence. The trunks were emptied and consigned to a closet, 
the dresses hung up, the bureau filled, the books and pic- 
tures laid on the lounge. Then she went for a pretty set of 
swinging shelves, which she hung up in a recess. 

“ How nice ! ” Margaret exclaimed ; and an air of interest 
began to blossom faintly in her face, as she arranged her 
books. Then she placed her cologne bottles of Bohemian 
glass on the bureau, and stood her bouquet-holders on the 
mantel-piece. Already the room began to wear a familiar 
look. These inanimate friends had no tendrils to be severed 
by removal ; they smiled as familiarly here as in the place 


160 


IN TRUST, OR 


where they had been added one by one to form a group ot 
household treasures. 

“ Now I must go down and prepare supper,” Mrs. Wilcox 
said, cheerfully, “ and afterwards we will attend to the pic- 
tures. When the bell rings, you will know I am ready for 
you ; ” and, as she passed out, she dropped a tender kiss on 
Margaret’s forehead. 

The child sat down before the stove, and mused in the 
falling twilight. Yet it was not so much thought, as that 
quiet abstraction from all thought — a contented idleness. 
The tinkle of the bell gave her a sudden pang, as if it had 
come too soon. 

She found Mrs. Wilcox in the hall, and was ushered into 
a pleasant apartment, glowing with lamp-light. The table 
was neatly arranged, and Mr. Wilcox already seated in his 
arm-chair. He bowed his white head, and held out his fee- 
ble hand to the new comer, with a gracious welcome. 

Margaret was too tired to eat, but she thawed out of her 
shyness a little at the sound of the motherly voice, so solicit- 
ous for her comfort. She remained down stairs until the tea 
things were put away. Then Mr. Wilcox read in a trembling 
♦voice the evening psalms, and offered a brief prayer. It 
was at once new and soothing to Margaret, and seemed to 
relieve the weary, desolate oppression. After bestowing 
him safely in bed, Mrs. Wilcox fastened doors and windows, 
and they went up stairs again. 

“ I’m going to show you the place,” Mrs. Wilcox said, as 
she went on, lamp in hand, opening the door into a wide 
passage, at one end of which stood a bedstead and a few 
chairs, and at the other a door. “This is our back stair- 
way, and leads down to the kitchen ; and here’s my room. 
Ton see we can leave the doors open between, if you like, 
and then I can hear you if you speak. There’s only one 
sleeping-room down stairs, and it is more convenient for 
father. I had this hole cut in the floor, so that I could listen 


BH. Bertrand’s household. 


161 


(whenever I woke, to see if he was safe. He always keeps 
a little bell on his table, in case he wants anything during 
thj night. You see I can keep good watch over you both ; 
and, my dear, I hope you’ll soon feel at home ; I want you 
to go around wherever you like. You’ll never disturb me 
by coming down, when I’m busy in the kitchen. Indeed, 
you seem so like a child, I can hardly realize that you are 
married.” 

. After that tour of inspection, the pictures were hung, and 
they sat down to a chatty conversation, which, being about 
Hr. Bertrand’s family, was deeply interesting to Margaret. 
Mrs. Wilcox had known them a long while, but never 
very intimately. The circumstances attending the death of 
the father, and the noble conduct of the son, were eloquent 
theme's to her. Bichard would have been amused if he had 
heard himself described as such a hero. 

“ The old doctor was not so rich as people supposed,” 
Mrs. Wilcox went on. “ Bichard decided to assist in taking 
care of the children ; and the lady he was engaged to marry 
— an heiress, by the by — ‘was so offended, that she broke 
with him, and married a richer person. I don’t know what 
kind of a heart she could have had. I would have waited 
years for any one so noble and generous. Indeed, if she 
had loved him truly, it would have been quite impossible for 
her ever to love another.” 

Margaret was glad to hear these details. She understood 
now why his face was grave, his voice unconsciously sad. 
He knew the bitter pain of desertion, renunciation. His 
heart had been wounded by neglect and coldness. She felt 
herself irresistibly drawn towards him, more deeply than if 
he had been perfectly happy; and she almost envied his 
sisters the blessed privilege of comforting him. 

Afterwards, when she was nestled among the snowy pil- 
lows, watching the moon as it stole slantwise through the 
low windows, she thought of his kindness to her, and how, 
14 ^ 


162 


IN TEUST, OB 


unwittingly, she had helped to increase his burdens. Sht 
cried to believe the stormy scene described by Mrs. Davis 
much exaggerated. She could fancy him grieved, sorrowful, 
almost heart-broken, but not angry. 0, would she ever be 
able to express the gratitude welling up in her heart like 
a royal flood, drowning out distrust, coldness, and want 
of faith ? And then she thought, with Mrs. Wilcox, that 
the woman who once truly loved him could never love 
another. 

And what were Richard’s reveries ? Now that the excite- 
ment was in some degree over, and he began to feel satisfied 
with Margaret’s surroundings, he looked the future straight 
in the face, and asked himself, for the first time, if he had done 
wisely. A curious sort of fate had urged him on ; indeed, 
the merely common impulses of a humanity generous as his 
could not but have given rise to the tenderest pity for one 
situated as Margaret was. With him all nobler feelings lived 
a full, active life. He could never pass by on the other side, 
whether the case were trivial, or of urgent need ; and now he 
had committed himself irrevocably to a labyrinthine path, 
where circumstances only could be his guide. He pondered 
the subject earnestly. There was one more step he really 
owed Margaret for his hasty verdict against her. Opening 
his desk, he drew forth some paper, and began a letter to 
Robert — a strong, earnest plea in behalf of the wronged girl. 
After detailing the steps he had taken, and expressing his 
deepest regret that in a hasty moment he had been per- 
suaded to espouse so flagrant a wrong, he implored Robert 
to hasten home, and ofi’er the only reparation in his power. 
It was eloquent with truest, tenderest pleading. As he 
wrote, desire became faith with him; he must have it so. 
Living, burning words thronged to his pen, such as one uses 
only in the great exigencies of life. 

Weeks must elapse before it could be sent; yet it was a 
relief to have it done. Then he could resign himself to 
dreams of the sweet face — 


DE. BEETEAND’s household. 


163 


“ like twilight fair, 

Like twilight too her dusky hair.” 

Nothing that bewildered with Murillo coloring, or stood 
out with the force of carven stone. It was a face one 
longed to see at a pleasant fireside, smiling with rare, quiet 
happiness. It seemed the more lovely because memcry 
was unable to portray it with salient points, and shrouded it 
in shadowy indistinctness. 


164 


IN TBUST. OB 


CHAPTEE XVIIT, 

Blest softness ! little hand and little cheek ! 

This is a touch so sweet, a blessed touch; 

There is love in it — love that will not chang-e. 

Joanna baillib 

O, let my weakness have an end ; 

Give unto me, made lowly wise. 

The spirit of self-sacrifice. 

Wordsworth. 

Ir was a bleak, dreary afternoon in early December. 
Little, hard pellets of snow drove in fitful gusts through a 
biting air, that did not in the least encourage their descent. 
The fierce wind rattled the leafiess branches together, or 
whirled the dry leaves in little eddies before scattering them, 
and the rocky ground gave back the clatter of wagon wheels. 

Margaret’s room was warm and cheerful, even in its solemn 
stillness. Most of the shutters were closed, and the fire 
gleam made a grateful, rosy twilight. The air had an 
aromatic smell, as of powerful restoratives, and on the 
pillow lay a thin, white face, framed in with clustering 
brown hair. The blue-veined lids were closed, and the 
golden-fringed lashes rayed over cheeks of marble. The 
small, stirless mouth had lost its ripe hue. The repose 
looked painfully like death. 

Dr. Bertrand bent over her noiselessly ; but by an acute 
intuition her languid eyes unclosed. 

“ I must leave you now,” he said, in a voice sorrowfully 
sweet. “ You must be very good and quiet, and not worr^ 
ibout anything. I shall be up again on Thursday.” 


DR.. Bertrand's household. 


165 


He passed his cool hand over her forehead, and then took 
her passive fingers in a clasp gentle, but tenderly strong. 
He had been fighting with death for her, and she knew whal 
that clasp expressed. A peaceful light stole over her face, 
a trust that told each had fathomed the depths of the other’s 
heart. 

He went out quietly. She listened to the last footfall, 
ilien weakly and weariedly turned a little. She could not 
see the soft, pinky flesh her hand lingered over with a thrill 
of deliciousness ; she only knew it was hers — a part of her 
own life. She cried gently, in a transport of love, pity, and 
grief. 

“ 0 baby," she said, in murmurous, broken tones, “ how 
kind, how good he is ! And yet, I almost wish we had died. 
We should have had each other in heaven, and God would 
have loved us, poor and weak as we are. For, my darling, 
papa, with his handsome face and bright eyes, will never 
-come back to us. He has ceased to care for us ; and it’s so 
dreary, dreary ! But I am crying, when I promised to be 
good and quiet ! 0 baby, you can never know how Hr. 

Bertrand has comforted me ; if papa had only been like 
him ! ’’ 

She found the baby’s hand, and was holding it with cling- 
ing tenderness, when Mrs. Wilcox came up. The kind- 
hearted woman did not question the traces of tears she 
found on her patient’s face, but bathed them away with 
fragrant water, and took her place as nurse and watcher. 

Dr. Bertrand pursued his homeward way through the 
rhilly gray air, musing on the new link that should have 
bound his brother to Margaret. They had heard once from 
the wanderer — a gay, chatty epistle, describing his voyage, 
the new home, and his situation, which was quite to his 
liking. Not a word that could be construed into regret for 
the past. “Don’t distress yourself for me, dear Dick, best 
brother in the world,’’ were its concluding words. 

Bichard had despatched his letter immediately, leaving 


166 


IN TRUST, OR 


the children to write at their leisure ; and now he w?j*i 
anxiously awaiting a reply. 

More than anxiously. A sick, impatient feverishness was 
stealing through liis veins. If he had desired a reconcilia- 
tion at first, how much more now, when he had fathomed 
the depth of Margaret’s nature, its exceeding purity, its 
affluent tenderness ! He wanted the tie between them rightly 
established, in order that he might bring the fond sisters to 
her side, and give her a place in the household. 

And then he wondered if Margaret loved his brother. 
Since the day on which she had so simply and truthfully con- 
fided to him the story of her brief, bright dream, no moan 
of desolation, no imploring prayer, had reached him. Indeed, 
she rarely spoke of Robert. In her first moment of moth- 
erly pride and love, she had said, tremulously, “ You will 
write to him for baby’s sake ; ” but she had no prayer for 
herself. A subtle pride, like minute steely points, kept 
guard around her heart, and forbade her to kneel where she 
had once been spurned. 

The lights were burning brightly in his own happy home. 
Mabel met him with an eager caress. She did not know why 
he held her so tightly in his arms, kissing her again and 
again, and never releasing her until he stood in the library, 
contemplating his dressing-gown and slippers. 

“ I was so afraid you wouldn’t come ! Arc you very 
tired ? Shall I bring your dinner and a cup of fresh tea in 
here ? ” 

“ If you please.” He glanced at her with a restless long- 
ing. 0, what a comfort it would be to share his secret with 
her ! 

The children came in, uttering pathetic complaints of how 
much they had missed him. When the dishes were sent 
away, Tessy slipped into her old place on his knee, and 
leaned her soft, peachy cheek against his. 

“ It begins to snow terrifically ! ” exclaimed x\rchie ; 
“ and, Dick, for a wonder, there’s but two calls on the office 
date.” 


DR. Bertrand's household. 


16V 


“ But you won't go out again ? " Mabel entreated, in her 
soft voice. 

“ No ; I shall shelter myself in the bosom of my family 
tor this night, unless something extremely urgent comes.” 

For once there did not. They sang, talked, and relapsed 
into contented silence. Bichard put a new face among them, 
and smiled inwardly over its spiritual loveliness, that dis- 
armed criticism, and made a picture finer and higher than 
mere physical beauty. 

Margaret recovered slowly. The baby was strong, healthy, 
and occasionally tried his lungs in a manner that quite fright- 
ened his mother ; but he was amenable to Mrs. Wilcox’s 
magic. Bi chard could noi think of giving up regular visits, 
and he was pleased with the color that fiuttered in Marga- 
ret’s face when he promised to come twice a week hereafter. 
Mrs. Wilcox was fairly absorbed in her charge, and never 
weary of praising the pale young mother, so l&e a child 
herself. 

Christmas passed in happy festivities. Then letters from 
Bobert, a great thick packet, “ worth waiting for,” as Martin 
declared. 

“ Dear Bobin,” Lily said, proudly. “ Isn’t he a good boy 
to write to us all ? ” 

Bichard took his into the office for a quiet perusal. His 
anxiety respecting it had grown almost insupportable. He 
read, — 

“ Dear, tender-hearted Dick ! It’s a shame that old hag 
of a Mother Davis could not have let you alone. I ought 
to have stipulated that you shouldn’t go near them, for T 
might have known you would fall among thieves. That girl 
has bewitched you I We did splendidly by them — better 
than they had any right to expect ; and now to have her 
saddled upon you is unendurable. Yet you were foolishly 
quixotic and hasty. What a sermon you wrote, though ! 
Did you really think I would fiy on the wings of the wind, 
and kneel at the feet of my charmer in penitential attitude ? 


168 


IN TKUST, OK 


No, Dick, that boyish folly has cost me too much already. 1 
cannot consent to sacrifice my life to it. 

“ I am very sorry you thought it necessary to change hei 
residence. Mother Davis would have managed better, and 
soon have taken the squeamish notions out of her. As it is, 
you have placed yourself in a pretty predicament. The girl 
has not the slightest legal claim on me, you well know. 
I’m not sure but she was leagued with Mother Davis to 
entrap me ; for they thought me made of money. I feel 
perfectly free to marry, and bring my true wife home any 
time ; so don’t put that thing in the way, or I shall feel 
bound to take matters in my own hands immediately. 

“ I’ll confess I was infatuated about Margaret at first ; and 
the old woman’s thwarting me, and holding out marriage 
continually, made me fool enough to run my head in a noose. 
But I soon grew sick of the whole affair ; and I tell you 
truly, Dick, if I was tied to such a baby for life, I jrliould 
hate the very sight of her. So consider yourself answered. 
I never can and never vnll marry her.” 

There was more in a similar strain. I think Eichard 
could have forgiven angry denunciations better than this 
easy, cruel heartlessness. No regret for the pure life he had 
blighted ! Only a boyish folly ! He pressed his hands to 
his throbbing temples, to stay the tide of indignant blood. 
The great passions of life rushed through his soul like lava 
streams, scorching, withering his regard for his brother. 
He knew now what made men duellists and bitter misan- 
thropes. Then he paused suddenly, amazed to see whither 
this whirl of feeling had led him. Could he forgive r Could 
he love his brother, “whom he had seen”? Could he be 
merciful ? 

There was a great struggle within the inan ; but his better 
nature, or Grod speaking through that nature, gave him 
strength. 

He was humbled and saddened. He prayed for patience, 
for wisdom, and, above all, for charity. He would have much 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


169 


need of them all. He must take up his burden alone. 
Whether rightly or wrongly, he had accepted it, and could 
see no escape, without bringing upon Margaret an agony of 
humiliation. He did not realize until now how strongly he 
had hoped Robert would accept his view of the mattei 
The keen, bitter disappointment tore his soul with anguish. 

Lily tapped at the door, and asked, “ May we come in, 
Dick ? ” 

“Not now, dear. We’ll look over the letters in the 
morning.” How forced and hollow his voice sounded, even 
to himself! 

By the next steamer Robert sent again. He had signed 
the deed relinquishing all further right to his father’s prop- 
erty, and also enclosed a check for a hundred dollars, ex- 
plaining it with these words : “I told you, Dick, that y(jur 
generosity should not be forgotten by me, and I mean to 
keep my word. But my advice to you is, to get rid of Mar- 
garet as soon as possible. It maddens me to think what a 
fool you have been.” 

Give up Margaret ! No, no. Secrecy and suffering first. 
“ Sufficient for the day was the evil thereof.” He would 
borrow no more trouble, but trust in God to make this 
crooked path straight. If he had sinned in not telling the 
whole truth, it was for another’s sake. 

“ Mrs. Bertrand has been down stairs,” was Mrs. Wilcox’s 
greeting to Richard, one bright January morning. “ She 
begins to look quite like herself. And father is delighted 
wilh the baby — he absolutely has learned to smile which 
Mii a great accomplishment for such a grave-looking baby. 

Richard ran up to Margaret’s room. She sat in a low 
'lair, dressed in a pretty crimson wrapper, the color lending 
ii piuky glow to her face. Baby was perched on her knee, 
though it required both arms to steady him. He certainly 
gave promise of rare beauty — Margaret’s face in a bold, de- 
cided style. He had the expression and development of a 
much older child ; a skin of marble-like whiteness, and a 


170 


TN TRUST, OR 


high, broad forehead, with deep, soft eyes, that Ss ♦raed ab!i 
to penetrate futurity, and wrest from it the secrets of coming 
life. And now, as Richard took him from his mother, he 
glanced up into the manly face with mute, urgent question- 
ing. Did he read any secret there ? More than once Rich- 
ard had thrilled at this strange appeal ; and now, in spite of 
his efforts, a color rose in his face. 

“So, you have been visiting ? ” he said gayly to Margaret, 
as a cover for his confusion. 

“ Yes, we went down to dinner yesterday, and we are go- 
ing out of doors soon.” 

“ I have half a mind to take you out in my sleigh. There’s 
scarcely a breath of air, and it’s just twelve, the warmest 
part of the day. Would you like it ? ” 

“ 0, so much ! ” Her eyes were luminous. 

“ We will call up Mrs. Wilcox, and have her verdict. It 
cannot possibly injure you.” 

The lady came, and was of the same opinion. So baby was 
laid in his cradle, while Mrs. Wilcox wrapped Margaret in a 
thick shawl, and wound a white, fleecy cloud around her head. 
How like a snow-drift she looked ! Richard insisted on 
carrying her’ down stairs, in spite of her blushing objections, 
and packed her in the sleigh, drawing the robe snugly up 
around her. Then at a word the horse started. 

It was indeed a lovely day, with a sky cloudless as sum- 
mer. The air was clear and cold, but with no bitter sharp- 
ness. The bells rang out joyful little peals, as if rejoicing 
in unison with her heart. She was glad she had lived, the 
world seemed such a bright, blessed place to her just now. 
They took a quiet country road, not driving very fast. 

“ When you are strong enough to go to church,” Dr. Ber- 
trand said, “ I think baby ought to be christened. Have you 
chosen any name for him ? ” 

“ No, unless — if you didn’t mind my calling him Richard,” 
was her timid reply. 

Richard! How sweetly musical the name fell from her 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


171 


Kps ! It lingered in his heart long after the sound of her 
voice d!edaway. And then an inexplicable feeling rose up, — 
not pride, not any dislike of the child ; for his heart warmed 
towards the hapless little being, — but some subtle reason 
that utterly refused to be analyzed. His name to be the 
connecting link between her and Robert’s child ; Ms name to 
be murmured with caresses and endearments — to another! 

“ You don’t like it,” she said, disappointedly. 

“ Do you think it pretty for a baby ? ” he asked> with a 
touch of embarrassment. “ I am so fond of household di- 
minutives; and however well ‘ Dick’ might sound for a boy, it 
doesn’t seem just the thing for a baby. Then ‘ Richard ’ is 
so grand and stately ! ” 

“ That is why you never use my name,” she said, mus- 
ingly. 

“ Do I not ? ” and then he remembered he never had. “ I 
like Margaret,” he went on. “ It has a royal ring to it, 
such as a princess needs ; but it seems too long and queenly 
for every-day wear. Tennyson wedded it to sweetest music 
when he said, — 

‘ O sweet, pale Margaret, 

O rare, pale Margaret.* ” 

“ Robert used to call me Maggie, and Madge,” she re 
marked, in a low tone. 

“ Maggie would suit a bold,' black-eyed romp, and Madge, 
though pretty, sounds weird and elfish. May I give you a 
ret name ? ” 

“ 0, if you would ! ” 

“ A sweet, dainty, French and English compound 
Daisy I ” 

She raised her eyes with that rare, beautiful sunrise glov» 
in them, but only said, — 

“ Thank you.” 

He went on with “ pale Margaret,” repeating, slowly,— 

“ * From all things outward you have won 
A tearful grace, as though you stood 
Betw^n the rainbow and the sun.* ” 


172 


IN TRUST, OK 


Presently he turned the horse, and they rode bajk in 
silence. Baby was asleep when they reached home. Dr. 
Bertrand Daned over the cradle, and touched by a vague 
sense of sorrow at the sight of Margaret’s mournful face, he 
drew her gently towards him, and said, — 

“ If you like the name of Bichard, let him be called that.” 

I think he never will be anything but ‘baby’ to me. 
I cannot tell why, but I never fancy him a large hoy, or 
glowing up. And some little tender pet name might suit 
him best.” 

Dr. Bertrand looked intently at her as she stooped to 
kiss the small waxen hands. No, there was nothing like fear 
in those most loving eyes. Unconsciously she had touched 
upon a thought that had thrilled him more than once as he 
had gazed at the transparent, blue-veined face. What if the 
little darling’s life should be bounded by that one dear word, 
baby ! 

“ I brought you ‘ The Heir of Bedclyffe,’ ” he said, wishing 
to change the current of his fancies. “ My sisters still cry 
over its hero. I have seldom met with anything so lovely 
in the whole range of fiction as Guy Morville’s brief marriage. 
You will like it, I know.” 

She thanked him gratefully. He took her hands in his a 
moment, and called her “ Daisy,” which brought the warm 
blood to her face. 

At his next visit she spoke of the christening herself. 

“ Have you decided upon a name ? ” asked Bichard, trying 
to shake off the feeling that annoyed him. 

“Yes. We have discussed all our story heroes. Mrs. 
Wilcox wanted Herbert ; I chose Charlie. I have a fancy 
his life will be quiet and peaceful. And — I wanted to ask 
you — if you thought me good enough — ” 

Her faltering voice died away in faint sweetness, and a 
timid color fluttered up to her forehead. 

“ For what ? ” His tone was low, and he took hei hand 
’n his. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


173 


“ To be baptized with baby. If he is to be brought up a 
Christian child, I ought to be a Christian mother. You know 
I wasn’t educated to think much of these things ; but all my 
life here has been so different ! And when one has been in 
great peril, near to death, one casts about for some anchoi 
of sure and steadfast hope. I used to say my prayers night 
and morning, but I never looked upon the Saviour as a 
friend always near, giving strength and comfort, and helping 
us bear our burdens. I did pray to die at first, but Mrs. 
Wilcox talked so sweetly to me that I began to long for her 
faith. The utter desolation almost crushed my heart. 

“0, it was a weary, weary time ! And then the light 
came. I think baby helped me, too. He was so pure and 
sweet that I knew Grod loved him, and I wanted to have a 
share in the heaven he beheld with his beautiful, unclouded 
eyes. For it does seem at times as if, like St. Stephen, he 
saw the heavens opened.” 

She answered Fichard’s questions in her simple, reverent 
fashion. Her life had been so guileless, her nature so pure, 
that faith had little to struggle with. Old Mr. Wilcox had 
given her the benefit of his experience, but her baby first led 
her to God. In all docility she had sat down at His feet, 
and learned of Him. 

“ Mrs. Wilcox’s clergyman was here yesterday,” she con- 
tinued. “ It will soon be the Feast of the Purification ; he 
thought it had better take place then.” 

“Yes, I like these festivals for spiritual birthdays. I will 
•;tand for the baby and you,” he remarked, gently. 

“ 0 ! ” Her upraised eyes were like a noonday surshino. 

Then they went back to the baby. Was there some subtle 
chain of thought between them respecting this young life ? 
It was as if they were preparing themselves for a separation. 
Yet Margaret remained quite unconscious of the chill hei 
words gave him. 

“ I am glad his name pleases you,” she said, in a gratified 
tone. 


15 ^ 


174 


IN TKTTST, OK 


“Yes, I like it But I had no right to object to ‘Kioh- 
ftrd,’ as I did the other day. Forgive me if I pained you.” 
He had thoroughly conquered the feeling now. 

They glanced up in each other’s eyes, and were mutually 
•satisfied. Then, just under her breath, she whispered, — 

“You have written to Robert about his child ! ” 

“ Yes.” Further answer he could not make. 

“ 0 baby ! baby ! if there was no Grod to help us bear this 
cross, we should die.” 

The pent-up tigony of months was in that blended cry of 
hopeless love and pitiful despair. It was the only lament 
Richard had heard since the day he listened to her story — 
that first sad, sweet interview. And in all the time that 
came afterwards, he never heard another. With that pang 
love expired. 

Margaret began her new life with touching faith and resig- 
nation. Her strength surprised even Richard. Baby throve 
finely, and his two little teeth were like a mine of jewels to 
his mother. But the far-off look never faded from his eyes. 
It was as if they were fixed on some unseen glory, that quite 
satisfied him. Mrs. Wilcox would have been better pleased 
with a boisterous, frolicsome child ; but Margaret liked him 
to sit quietly on her knee, and listen to the sad, tender talk 
that was ever lingering on her lips. She had no thought in 
life beyond him. 

Yet she never drooped or grew discouraged with her 
lonely lot. Indeed, except for a brief while, it had never 
been so happy. The lovely country home, the flowers, the 
birds singing above her, were unfailing joys. Richard kept 
her supplied with choice books, and occasionally took her 
for a pleasant drive. Under these genial, fostering influ- 
ences, the petals of girlhood blossomed sweetly, displaying 
the woman’s heart within, pure and sacred. The inscrip- 
tion on its pages sank unconsciously into Richard’s inmost ^ 
Boul. 


DB. BEBTRAND's HOUSKHOLT). 


176 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

O God ! 1 ara so youn^, so young ! 

T am not used to bear 

Hard thoughts of death. The earth doth cover 
No face from me of friend or lover; 

And must the first who teaches me, 

My own first-born beloved be.^* 

Mrs. Browning. 

The old elm tree in Dr. Bertrand’s garden waved iti 
?ide-spread branches in the summer sunshine. Birds came 
and sang to it, drowsy bees hummed through the leaves, 
and bright-winged butterflies hovered around it. The fra- 
grant south wind loaded it with perfume, rifled from some 
far country, and the whispering river murmured forever at 
its feet, like a lover. Philip Gregory and Mabel Bertrand 
sat in its shade, his head resting in her lap. 

“ What a long, delicious day ! ” he remarked. 

“ A long, lazy day ! Doesn’t your conscience trouble you, 
‘ Philip, my king ’ ? ” 

“ If you will repeat that beautiful poem of Miss Muloch’s 
again, I promise not to have an atom of conscience left.” 

“It is infinitesimal now. I dare not lessen it;” and her 
low laugh rippled musically. 

“ Eemember how I have worked and waited for two years, 
and be merciful. But I shall soon take you ‘ to have and 
to hold,’ in a literal sense. Confess, now, that the prospect 
is inviting ! ” and he glanced mischievously into the face he 
had crimsoned. 

“ It is well we are to have some useful, rational employ- 
ment, or you would be ruined past redemption.” 


176 


IN TUtTST, OR 


“ You see I am making the most of my brief holiday 
After that, a month of loneliness. Bel, you must write 
every day. For the remainder of my life I’ll be princely 
generous, and excuse you.” 

“ Will you ? ” Mabel fell into a fit of musing. 

“ Doesn’t the future appear too bright, too blessed, darling ? 
I almost tremble as I think of it. How little did I dream 
of this termination when I found you all in this very spot 
two years ago, and I a lonely wanderer ! God has been so 
good ! ” His face was gravely tender, his voice full of emotion. 

“ ‘ Freely ye have received,’ ” Mabel said. 

“ Yes ; we will remember it in the life so soon to begin — 
our true life. There will be plenty of work to do. And, 
dearest, I am glad you have taken up my wishes so readily. 
While, on some accounts, a home by ourselves would be 
more delightful, I seem to owe Mr. Chaloner the duty of a 
son ; and our coming will be such a pleasure to him.” 

“I had rather go,” was the quick rejoinder. “We shall 
not live quite so much for ourselves.” 

“ Bel, one would think selfishness your besetting sin, 
whereas I expect to take pattern by your generosity.” 

“ There is no need ; yours will be sufiicient.” 

“You don’t know.” He rose up on his elbow. “Bel, I 
thought of pleading for marriage immediately after my or- 
dination. And I confess it was a sacrifice to give it up.” 

“ And so, instead, you insisted on Mr. Chaloner’s taking 
a month’s vacation, by way of penance — to you, I mean.” 

“ He had such a fine opportunity to go with friends — and 
he would have been so disappointed not to chaperon you — 
and — several other good reasons.” Philip laughed off his 
rising color. 

“ Rebels within and foes without 
Will snatch at thy crown.” 

“ Don’t, Bel ; ” and his hand, passing over her lips, inter* 
rupted the lines she was repeating. 

“ I think I can trust you,” was her quiet commendation. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 17 "I 

“ After my month’s solitude, perhaps. Who but Kichard 
lhat treasure to lovers, would have thought of sending the 
children away, so I could have you to myself this whole 
fortnight ? ” 

“ The children always go to aunt Sophy’s in the summer,” 
was Mabel’s demure rejoinder. 

“ No ; Eichard shall have the credit. He manages splen- 
didly. Dear fellow ! I wonder if the romance of life is all 
over with him. He is just the man one longs to see fondly 
loved by a wife, and with little children clinging to his 
knees. My cup of joy will not be quite full unless his brims 
over. 0 Bel ! I’m afraid I never could have been so brave 
and unselfish. There comes the carriage.” 

Philip gave a short, boyish whistle, and waved his hand- 
kerchief. Eichard caught the signal, and hastened down to 
them. Standing on the upper terrace, he took in the scene 
at a glance, and laughingly asked if the day was appointed. 

“ The 1st of September. Thursday, is it not ? ” 

“I said the was Mabel’s quick rejoinder. 

“ A most unimportant difi'erence. Do I not deserve a 
slight reward for. m}^ patience, and the remarkable fortitude 
with which I take upon myself a month’s lonely exile ? ” 

“ You do, indeed ; ” and Eichard threw himself on the 
grass. “ Tennyson, too ; ” and he picked up the book, 
laughingly. “ First, I suppose, you said, — 

* Come into the garden, Maud ; * 

And then, — 

* Go not, happy day, 

From the shining fields; 

Go not, happy day. 

Till the maiden yields.* ** 


“ Exactly ! And there’s nothing left for you but the part 
of the tragedy father, who says, ‘ Come to my arms, m;y 
r^hildren, and be happy.’ ” 

“ ‘ There sounds the distant bell ; ’ ” and Mabel sprang up 


178 


IN TRUST, OK 


in a statuesque attitude. “ ‘ I must away to the halls of mj 
ancestors.’” 

“ Very creditably rendered, Miss Bertrand and Philip 
bowed low in mock politeness. 

Mabel ran off, the gentlemen following slowly, arm in 
arm. Philip had just remarked, “We mean to keep you 
prisoner for the remainder of the day and evening,” when 
Ann came down the walk. 

“ Here is a note for you, doctor, and the boy is waiting at 
tlje door for an answer.” 

He tore it open with a startling rush of apprehension, for 
he knew the handwriting. It contained these words : — 

“ Dear Dr. Bertrand : Baby is very, very ill ; please 
come immediately. Daisy.” 

He went to the hall door, and found Frank Dawson, one 
of Mrs. Wilcox’s neighbors. “ I was to take you up, right 
away,” the boy said. 

There was no time for delay. He just turned to Philip,^ 
saying, “ I have been called to a very urgent case. Tell 
Mabel I could not wait for dinner, and I may not be back 
to-night. I am sorry to disappoint you ; ” and he wrung 
his friend’s hand warmly ; then, gathering a few important 
remedies, sprang into the wagon beside the boy, and was 
soon out of sight. Indeed, they fairly flew along the 
road. Bichard learned from the boy that his mother had 
been over to Mrs. Bertrand’s, and that the baby was very 
sick. Another physician had been called. Frank was to 
be in Newark at four, exactly, as Dr. Bertrand would then 
be home ; but he had no idea what the disease might be. 

Bichard scarcely needed telling. The child’s teething 
had been accompanied by spells of languor and restlessness, 
but no tangible illness. Margaret’s inexperience had ren- 
dered her timid and easily alarmed, and Bichard could not 
find it in his heart to add to her fears. On his last visit she 


DF BEKTRANB’s household. 


179 


had boen unusually anxious ; but the baby appeared verji 
well that day, laughing, cooing out soft, gurgling sounds, 
and raising his little arms to show how large he was. Hi . 
mother had brought him to the gate for a last adieu, and 
the strange, haunting eyes followed Richard for hours after- 
wards. He had not expected the blow so soon. 

“ Faster, Frank ! ” he exclaimed, with a thrill of intense 
pain ; and the horse was urged to its utmost. They passed 
familiar places, shady gardens, and turned the well-known 
corner. The cottage was before them. 

Mrs. Wilcox met him at the door. Her eyes still showed 
traces of tears as she said, in a hurried tone, “ 0 doctor ! 
I’m afraid it is too late. He has changed so since noon. I 
think he is dying.” 

Dr. Bertrand went up three steps at a time, and entered 
the open door. Beside the bed, in a low chair, sat the 
young mother with her babe in her lap. She glanced up 
with a cry of relief, while her eyes of unquestioning faith 
said more plainly than language, “ At a word from you, 
danger will fold her shadowy wings, and flee away.” 

Alas ! sweet, tender, confident eyes. Already they be- 
gan to show their vigil. When he noted the tense lines 
around the mouth, and the deadly pallor of the face, he 
knew what fears she had been striving against. He sat 
down beside them, and took the child’s passive hand in his. 
The pulse was slow and feeble. Dark purplish shadows had 
settled under his eyes, and around the mouth were hues of 
xslien gray. The colorless lips were parted, showing his 
.ittle pearly teeth. Only the broad forehead retained its 
transj arency ; it was deathly white, with crimson stains in 
•he temples. 

When was he taken ? ” Richard asked, in an under- 
breath. 

“ You remember what I told you on Saturday about those 
strange attacks he had ? He was so bright then ; but all 
light he kept starting in his sleep and moaning. Sunday 


180 


TN TRUST, OR 


we put him in a warm bath, and after his nap he was so good ! 
I took him down .stairs, and he sat a long time on father 
Wilcox’s knee, laughing and crowing ; and all day Monday 
he appeared perfectly well, and so sweet it seemed as if my 
whole soul went out in love to him. Then he fretted all 
night again, and yesterday acted as he did before his teeth 
came in. First I thought I would send for you ; but he gre^T 
piet, and slept till late this morning. Mrs. Wilcox consid- 
ered him better ; but at ten he was taken severely, crying 
with sudden bursts of pain, and rolling his head. His eyes 
frightened me with their wildness. Mrs. Dawson went for 
Dr. Ward. I was afraid you might be out. He put leeches 
on baby’s temples, and ordered baths. I’m afraid it wasn’t 
right, for he has lain this way ever since, and doesn’t appear 
to know even me.” Drawing a long breath, she glanced up 
questioningly. 

“ It was the best thing to try.” There was a death-like 
pause. How could he tell her the rest ? 

“ Well,” she returned, in a voice of assured faith, “ what 
can I do next ? You will give him something ? ” 

“ Daisy,” he said, with rarest tenderness, “ my dear child, 
we can only wait.” 

“ How long ? ” Her tone showed her utter unconscious- 
ness of the final ending. 

“ Let me lay him on the bed ; he will be easier ; ” and 
with a little gentle authority he took up the child. 

“ Poor baby ! Poor Charlie ! Do you think he sulfers 
much ? I tried to make him drink, but he wouldn’t. Do 
you know what it is ? 0, when will he be better ? ” 

Dr. Bertrand gathered the slight, trembling figure to his 
heart. She was quite still, as if the rest brought a blessed 
sense of relief. After many seconds of silence, he said, 
with low, tender solemnity, — 

“All pain and anguish will be over in a few hours. 
Charlie will soon be resting in the bosom of the Saviour 
Dear, dear Daisy!” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


181 


She did not faint, or cry. Her senses were stunned, be- 
wildered. She stood silent in his clasp, her heart beating 
with great, frightened bounds, as if it would burst its prison, 
her eyes looking steadfastly into vacancy. Then she said, 
with terrible calmness, the quiet of utter incredulity, — 

“You will save him. God has so many little children in 
neaven, and I have only him.” 

“ My poor darling, human skill is of no avail. I could 
Dot have saved him yesterday ; even if I could keep him 
a few hours longer, it would only lengthen his sufferings. 
Think of the blessed rest in heaven, where there is no more 
pain. Remember who said, ‘ Suffer little children to come 
unto me.’ ” 

Then a wild, pathetic cry broke from the pale lips, and 
she struggled to throw herself beside the child. It seemed 
cruel to keep her there. Every pulse in Richard’s frame 
quivered with intensest pain, and the strong arms were 
tender in their clasp, as if she had been a baby. 

He sat down, still holding her. “ Daisy, my child, listen 
to me.” His voice was full of that deep, electric power 
which rarely fails to attract attention. Taking her Bible 
from the stand near by, in faltering tones he read that most 
touching of all stories, — the love and agony of the Shuna- 
mite woman, — ending with these words: “Did I desire a 
son of my lord ? Did I not say. Do not deceive me ” 

Some hard, dry sobs strangled in her throat, but her eyes 
were tearless, and her breath came in quick, painful gasps, 
as she said, — 

“ But he is my all. God never gave me any brothers, or 
sisters, or parents to love. My life was like a desert waste 
till Robert came. It seemed as if God sent me the baby so 
I might forgive him. And now, to be left all desolate, to 
have no one to love ! No, I can’t bear it ; let me die with 
my child ; ” and she struggled passionately. 

“ 0 Daisy, do not compel me to be cruel ! I cannot bear 
».o h.ave his sufferings increased by your wild, unavailing 
16 


182 


IN TKUST, OR 


woe. You may sit by him and watch him if you will onlj 
be calm. Dear child, if I could restore him, as the prophet 
did ! But you will not even let me help you bear it.” 

She ceased her frantic efforts, and answered, wearily, 
“You have been so good to me always! only now — yes, 
I will be calm.” 

In answer to her imploring eyes, he seated her on the side 
)f the bed, but still retained her hand. 

“ Please talk to me,” she said. 

He began in that low, sympathizing voice whose tender 
inflections were so well calculated to soothe and enchain the 
listener. He did not repeat the trite truisms about resigna- 
tion ; he knew just now she could not believe them. Instead, 
he talked of life and its many trials, of heaven and its 
perfect rest, of God who is always wise, and sees farther 
than our weak, faithless eyes. He spoke of the evil to 
come, of the bitter weaknesses that beset man at his best 
estate. 

“ 0, no 1 ” she exclaimed, with the earnest incredulity of 
love; “ it couldn’t have been for him. I should have watched 
over him so carefully ! I had nothing else to do, you know ; 
nothing to take my love from him. I would have guarded 
him so watchfully, kept him from the slightest sin.” 

“ Perhaps God has some new duty for you. When Robert 
went away, you know He sent baby to comfort you. Can you 
not trust Him again ? ” 

“It’s so hard — so hard. And then to be left alone ! ’ 
SI 0 buried her face in her hands. 

Mrs. Wilcox came up. One glance at Margaret’s despair- 
ing attitude told her all. “Had you not better lie down, 
now that the doctor is here?” she asked, kindly. 

An almost apathetical movement of the head was the only 
answer. For a long while the three watched. Then she 
went for some biscuits and tea. Margaret would have re- 
fused, but Richard held the cup before her, and she drank 
mechanically. All this time the baby had been very quiet ; 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


183 


aow he began to move uneasily, and purple lines settled 
rapidly about his mouth. 

“You had better go down with Mrs. Wilcox,” Richard 
said, hurriedly. 

The look of alarm in her eyes asked the wordless ques- 
tion. 

“ Not now,” was the whispered reply. 

“How long ?” An irrepressible shudder tore her frame. 

“ Not before midnight ; perhaps later. But I do not like 
to have you witness this.” 

“ Please let me stay.” 

The convulsion came on slowly, and though not of the 
severest type, racked the young mother’s heart with agony. 
Richard used all the means at his command to alleviate the 
little innocent’s suffering. More than once he bent closely 
over him to hide the writhing face. When the paroxysm 
passed, and he lay white and rigid, Margaret’s fearful cry 
rang through the room. 

“ 0, he is dead ! dead ! My precious, precious baby ! ” 
and she flung herself on the bed beside him. 

Not dead. There were feeble flutterings, faint indications 
of returning life. 

“He may be thus for hours. Would you not rather go 
away ? ” 

“ 0 no ! no ! I will be quiet. But it is so terrible ! ” 
And she clung to Richard with mute agony, as if he could 
give her strength for this fiery trial. He had never been so 
deeply moved by another’s woe, and he longed, with wild 
intensity, to be able to shield her from these pangs. 

Father Wilcox came up for one last look of the beautiful 
boy so near heaven. He laid his trembling hand on the 
bowed head of the mother, and prayed that God would sus- 
tain her. Then the twilight fell softly over them, and in the 
midst of gray dusk the lamps were brought in. Still they 
watched. The convulsions returned at intervals until mid- 
night. Slowly the little life was drifting heavenward. Tho 


184 


IN TRUST, OR 


clock told off its seconds in deathly silence. Suddenly the 
baby lifted his arms and stretched them out wildly, as if 
searching for some familiar clasp. There was a little, fright- 
ened cry as Margaret clasped him to her heart, and kissed 
him with the last anguish of despairing love. A great awe 
fell uj on them. Then were the heavens opened, and the 
angels of Grod entered the golden gateway with a ransomed 
soul. 

E-ichard took him from her, and laid him down, saying, 
brokenly, “ ‘ I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.’ ” 

Her head drooped on his breast. For the first time he 
kissed her, and in that moment took her to his heart entirely. 
Her face was pale and cold, her heavy-lidded eyes closed 
and tearless. He remembered that after a while he sum*' 
moned Mrs. Wilcox, and wrapping a shawl carefully around 
the passive little figure, led her down stairs. She did not 
even moan, or make any outward sign of grief. 

The morning was breaking in the eastern skies. Clouds 
of opal and amethyst rayed off from the crimson spires, shoot- 
ing upward from the golden chariot of day. The odorous 
wind sobbed tremulously through the dewy trees, as if 
shadowy night wept tears of pain as she trailed her garments 
over the hill tops, to make room for a brighter visitant. 
The vines on the porch shook out showers of fragrance, 
grateful to the weary ones who paced ip and down under 
their blossoms, in a silence too sorrowful to be broken by 
words. 

At length Margaret looked up, with weary, wistful eyes^ 
and he led her back to the house, pausing in the parlor to 
open the shutters, and seat her on the sofa. “ Wait here,” 
he said, “ while I go for a pillow.” 

He brought not only the pillow, but a composing draught. 
She drank it at his bidding, and allowed him to cover her. 
He glanced at the dry, glittering eyes, and continued, with 
q[uiet authority, — 

“ Now you must go to sleep. I shall sit here a while, 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


185 


and comfort you with the promises God keeps for hia 
children.” 

He took the chill hands in his, and chafed them tenderly, 
as he repeated verses from Holy Writ — the glowing beauty 
of Revelations, and the blessed promises of Isaiah. At first 
she listened hopelessly, then with senses sharpened by her 
keen suffering ; and the weary look became almost grateful. 
Presently the wide-open eyes drooped a little, the rigid 
lines of pain began to relax, and sleep asserted her power ; 
but rebellious nature gave sharp, nervous starts, and refused 
to be conquered. But the potent draught began to work^ 
and the restless nerves succumbed. He watched her foi 
a while with the tenderest pity ; then pressed his lips upon 
the white forehead, shut out the light, and left her to a 
slumber he knew must last several hours. 

Mrs. Wilcox had put Margaret’s room in order, and 
washed the baby. He lay in his cradle, a sweet, natural 
look taking the place of pain. 

“ 0 doctor,” Mrs. Wilcox exclaimed, “ how will she en- 
dure it ! He has grown into her very life. They were 
scarcely ever separated for an hour, and she idolized him. 
Those so dearly loved are always taken first.” 

“ May it not be rather that love receives some divine pre- 
sentiment of its brief stay on earth, and develops more 
rapidly into completeness ? Dear baby ! His life work is 
done ; why it was so soon ended we cannot question. God, 
who took him, knows best.” 

“ Is she asleep ? ” 

“ Yes. The slumber may be heavy, she is so completely 
ivorn out. I must go now, and will stop on my way to send 
an undertaker. I shall be up this afternoon to make further' 
arrangements.” 


16 ^ 


18 « 


IN TRUST, on 


CHAPTEK XX. 

So; closer wind that tender arm. . . . How the hot tears ftll . Do not weep 
Beloved, but let your smile stay warm about me. In the Lord they sleep.” 

Owen Meredith. 

My heart still feels the weight of that remembered chain. 

Mrs. Norton. 

Richard paused at the parlor door with a strange longing 
to gaze once more on that face, still sweet, through all its 
grief and weary vigils. He listened to the heavy breathing 
of utter exhaustion, and then passed on with emotions that 
utterly refused to be analyzed. He was glad to be again in 
the fresh air of early morn ; he had much to think of. The 
future staring him in the face was not such a guest as men 
love to meet. 

Yet now there was no evading it. Daisy needed some 
friend in this cruel strait ; and who so appropriate as Mabel ? 
It would tend to arouse Mrs. Wilcox’s suspicion if he kept 
them all away at a time like this. But if he brought Mabel 
there was a painful duty before him ; he must tell her the 
truth. And then he sighed at the possibility of Daisy learn- 
ing it. 

When he reached home Ann was sweeping the sidewalk, 
and gave him a cheerful good morning. He went directly 
to the office, and throwing open the window, leaned on the 
sill, inhaling the sweetness of the honeysuckles. 0, how 
fervently he prayed God to strengthen him for the bitter 
task ! He could not put away this cup. 

Martin came shuffling up from the stable. He fumbled 
in every pocket, and at last produced a letter. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


187 


“ Good mornin’, doctor. I’ve something here that cam« 
ill last night’s mail. I didn’t let Miss Mabel see it, for fear. 
It’s from California, and belike there’s bad news.” 

A shiver thrilled Eichard’s heart as he saw the strange 
handwriting and insignia of mourning. He broke it open 
hastily. 

“ Master Robert ? ” Martin inquired after a long pause. 

“Yes, he is dead,” was the low, solemn reply. “I will 
tell you the particulars presently ; ” and falling into the near- 
est chair, he pressed his hands to his forehead, as if utterly 
unable to take in the fact. That bright, buoyant, vigorous 
nature ; that proud, handsome face ! Could it be the earth 
had shut it forever from human sight ? 

There followed an overwhelming sensation of relief. 
The weary, heart-corroding care, the burden that at times 
had seemed insupportable, rolled away. A thrill of free- 
dom sped along his veins. Then he checked himself. 
His ease and comfort purchased at such a price ! To this 
succeeded thoughts of Daisy. The secret that might one 
day blight her pure soul had been taken into wiser keeping 
than his. No fear of it now. God had chosen that Robert 
should atone for his treacherous sin by an early death. It 
was no longer his to bear, to pray over, and to fear. He 
could bring the poor, stricken child into their loving house- 
hold, to take Robert’s place. He could give her sisters, 
brothers, and a name. 

He had merely glanced over the letter ; now he began to 
read it carefully. Its contents were these : — 

“ San Francisco, June 10 , 18 —. 

“ Dr. Bertrand : I suppose, my dear sir, that, by the 
papers of the last steamer, you received an account of the 
sad occurrence which resulted in the death of your brother. 
He died too late to allow me to write in time for the mail. 
No one can deplore the event more deeply than myself and 
Mrs. Cummings, and we offer you our warmest and most heart- 


188 


IN TRUST, OR 


felt sympathy. The newspaper paragraph was suhstantiallj 
correct. Mrs. Cummings had been calling on some friend? 
quite beyond the city limits, and on her return, being rather 
late, had taken an unfrequented path on account of its being 
nearer. Here she was beset by two drunken ruffians ; and 
I shudder to think of her possible fate, if your brother had 
not, attracted by her cries, rushed to her rescue. He suc- 
ceeded in disabling both of the miscreants, wounding one 
slightly, and the other severely ; but received a mortal blow 
himself. 

“ He was brought immediately to my residence, and every- 
thing medical skill could suggest, done for his recovery, but 
alas ! in vain. He lingered three days, and expired amid 
the universal regret of his friends. My joy at my wife’s es- 
cape is therefore tempered with keenest sorrow, that it should 
have been purchased at such a price. Yet I cannot refrain 
from congratulating you on once possessing a brother so 
fearless and chivalrous ; endeared to a large circle of friends 
here ; for his winning manners rendered him a favorite with 
almost every one he met. And I have no doubt that at home 
he will be equally regretted. The wretches who committed 
30 unprovoked a murder are both in custody, and will, no 
doubt, pay the penalty of their crimes. 

“ Your brother has been buried in our finest cemetery. 
If you particularly desire it, I will see to sending his remains 
home ; but if you and yours could decide to leave him to hig 
final slumber in this far country, Mrs. Cummings and myself 
would take it as a great favor to us. Indeed, it is my wi?h 
to erect a monument both suitable and handsome, as a token 
of my appreciation of the inestimable benefit he conferred on 
both of us ; and it will be a work of love to watch over his 
grave. 

“ You will be glad to know that his sufferings were not 
very intense, and also that he had every care it was possible 
for Mrs. Cummings to bestow. How deeply we deplore his 
loss, words are inadequate to express. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


189 


“ If there is anything amongst his effects you desire, ] 
shall he glad to take any trouble in forwarding it. Mrs. 
Cummings joins me in sympathy, regret, and the highest 
regard for your deceased brother. 

“ Hoping to hear from you as to the final disposition of 
his remains, 

“ I am, very sincerely, yours, 

“ E. A. Cummings.” 

A thanksgiving surged up in Richard’s heart, that hia 
brother’s death, if sudden, was in the highest degree hon- 
orable. He had expiated his sin towards one woman by 
the salvation of another. He forgave Robert every wrong 
fully and freely. The sneering allusions to Margaret had 
never stung any heart save his own. And he tried to be- 
lieve, that in those last moments, with another world opening 
on his view, Robert had repented, and would fain have re- 
paired the wrong to the poor child. 

He had shrunk with intense pain from making Margaret 
an object of pity for any other cause than her own grief. 
Now, although there might be much wondering, the story 
could be told. Margaret could take the place in the house- 
hold he had so often longed to give her. He could hardly 
realize that the “ constant anguish of patience ” was indeed 
ended. 

Presently there was a little stir in the house. From the 
parlor opposite, he heard Mabel’s sweet voice, as she went 
about her morning’s work, — 

“ ‘ Then with my waking thoughts 
Bright in thy praise, 

Out of my stony griefs 
Bethel I>11 raise ; 

So by my woes to be 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee.^ ” 

The words soothed him greatly. He called to her, and 
she entered with a cheerful “ good morning.” 

He kissed her tenderly 


190 


IN TRUST, OR 


‘‘ What is the matter, Richard ? You look tired and ill 
Was last night unusually fatiguing?” 

He drew her down beside him, and replied in an unstead]^ 
voice, — 

“ It was a night of agony. Sorrows have multiplied upon 
us, my darling. I have a long, sad story to tell ; but firs: 
you must read this letter. Martin handed it to me when I 
came home.” 

Her eyes wandered over a few lines, and were raised in 
utter incredulity. Then she said, — 

“ It is not true^ surely. Do you believe Robert is dead ? ” 

“ No one would write such a letter unless the story was 
beyond all question. You see it refers to papers, by the last 
steamer, that we missed. You remember we wondered a 
little at not hearing.” 

“ I can’t believe it. And, Richard, why do you look so 
strangely ? Are there still worse tidings ? ” 

“ Last night I watched the soul go out of Robert’s little 
baby. He is in heaven with the angels now ; but the poor, 
stricken mother, a fair, fragile girl, scarcely older than Lily, 
is crushed by her unspeakable anguish. For nearly a year 
she has known herself a deserted wife, never hearing of her 
husband save through me.” 

“ I knew some fresh misfortune had occurred’ when he left 
us so suddenly,” Mabel resumed slowly; “ but to be married 
— to be dead — I cannot realize it at all, Richard.” 

“ Let me tell you the story.” He paused a moment for 
strength, and clasped his arm fondly about her, commencing 
with, “ It was a hasty passion on his part, a child’s love on 
hers. He tired of her, and refused to support or live with 
her, when the girl’s adopted mother interfered. It was she 
who came over here the day before he went away.” He con- 
fessed his readiness to have Robert leave for California ; his 
fear lest he had been the dupe of a designing woman, and 
her too facile instrument; and his dislike of the whole affair. 
Then he described his first interview with Margaret, the 


DR. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLE 


191 


total change in his feelings, and all those after days of pity 
and sympathy; her desolation, her sweetness and patience, 
and her absorbing love for her child. As he went through 
the woe of the last few hours, his voice was choked with 
emotion. 

Mabel was weeping long before he had ended. Now she 
threw herself on his bosom, exclaiming through her sobs, — 

“ 0 dear, brave, generous Dick ! What a burden yon 
have borne for him ! How patient you have been ! how good 
to us all, sacrificing your own comfort and advanceinem 
everywhere ! Papa could have loved us no better.” 

“ It was what I promised him^ dear ; and I am thankful 
Grod has enabled me to perform my trust.” 

“ I seem to forget Robert in that poor, lonely wife. If I 
might go to her — ” 

“ Thank you. It was what I longed to suggest. She has 
no friend of her own age to comfort her. But what a sad 
termination for your bright holiday ! ” 

“ 0 Richard ! when my life has been so happy and blessed, 
I should be worse than selfish to shut my heart from her. 
Poor Robert ! 0, why did he not bring her here ? She 

must come now.” 

“ Yes.” 

The breakfast bell overtook them in the midst of their 
planning. Philip stood ready to banter them on their seclu- 
sion ; but when he saw the grave, tearful faces, he took their 
hands in quiet sympathy. After they were seated at the 
table, Richard repeated the sad history, and announced hie 
brother’s death. Philip was both surprised and shocked. 
He felt how utterly cruel the heart must have been that 
could condemn a mere child to such a destiny as Margaret’s ; 
and, in his straightforward way, he looked upon Robert’s 
death as a direct punishment for his sin. 

“ You will bury the baby here ? ” Mabel said, as they rose. 

“I had hardly thought;” and Richard’s pale face flushed 
as he remembered the secrecy he had considered necessary, 
and for which there was now no occasion. 


192 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ I want him to lie in the cemetery with the rest ; and if 
Robert should never be brought home, it will seem to be a 
memory of him.” Mabe] forced down some sobs, and con- 
tinued : “ Does it not appear most suitable to have the fu- 
neral from this house ? It will announce the principal facts 
at once, and leave less room for questions.” 

“ I believe you are right,” Richard answered, thoughtfully. 

“ And the children must be here. It will be a better 
welcome for — her.” 

“ I am fearful they could not receive the word in time.” 

“ I will go for them,” Philip said. 

Mabel’s gratified smile was ample reward. 

Richard had some unavoidable calls on his list. While 
he was out Mabel wrote a brief note to Lilian and aunt So- 
phy, and saw Philip started on his journey. Robert’s death 
appeared much more real when the servants came to add 
their sorrow. Yet her visions were of a sweet young face, 
desolately mourning a sadder loss than this. 

It was past noon when Richard and Mabel started for 
Orange. The day was not oppressively warm, and the fine 
breeze rendered the ride a very comfortable one. Their 
conversation could not be otherwise than sad, yet it was 
tempered with many feelings besides grief. To Mabel, 
standing on the threshold of a new life, these events were 
of deep importance. Her girlhood had passed so quietly, 
been so blessed and satisfying, that she had scarcely dreamed 
of woes or wants beyond, save in the desultory manner com- 
mon to young hearts. She needed not to go into the world 
to learn her first sad lesson. A cruel thrust had entered 
even that beloved home circle. And Richard had carried 
the cross for them all. 0, could they in any after days ever 
recompense him ! 

When Mrs. Wilcox received Dr. Bertrand and his sister, 
her face betrayed traces of recent tears. As she ushered 
them into the parlor, his eye caught a glimpse of pillow and 
shawl. It seemed ages since he brought them there. 


DR. Bertrand’s hoxjsehoed. 


193 


“ Mrs. Bertrand is in her room,” Mrs. Wilcox said. 
'' She slept a long while, and was quite refreshed. But 0, 
doctor, what can be done for the poor child ? She doesn’t 
shed a tear. Her white and stony face frightens me. It is 
BO hard ! She did not think her baby could die.” 

“ I will go for her ; ” and Bichard started. 

He found Margaret standing by the partially closed win- 
dow, gazing vacantly over houses and gardens bright with 
summer sunshine. How pitiless the cloudless sky looked ! 
What a mockery all this beauty was ! 

She turned a little at his step. The weary, hopeless face 
chilled his heart. The heavy eyes were questioning the far 
depths of space for some ray of consolation ; there was an 
urgent want in them for which human speech had no utter- 
ance. How she had changed ! The complexion was gray, 
the whole face thin and pinched, as if weeks of suffering 
had passed over it. 

He drew her tenderly to his heart, and kissed the fore- 
head almost as cold as death. How natural the caress 
seemed ! He thought it was her sorrow that rendered her 
so dear to him, and the sense of freedom after long re- 
straint. 

“ Little sister Daisy ! ” 

The words seemed to thrill her strangely. She nestled 
closer, as if fearful of losing the new place he had given her 
with that name. Then he went on, in a low tone, telling 
!iei how Mabel had desired to come, and what a warm, shel- 
tered corner she should find in their household. She was 
to be no longer a stranger or an alien. 

At any other time she must have shrunk from Mabel’s 
stately figuie and the dignity that with strangers passed 
for reserve. She only noticed that the voice that welcomed 
her had a lingering touch of Bichard’s sweetness in it, and 
the clasp enfolding her was tender and fond. She did not 
even glance up at the face, satisfied to take all on trust. 

He judged rightly that they would make friends sooner if 
17 


194 


IN TRUST, OR 


left entirely to themselves ; so, after a little talk with fathoJ 
Wilcox, bade them an affectionate good by. He had in- 
trusted to Mabel’s discretion the tidings of Robert’s death, 
and the arrangements for the baby’s burial. 

That evening’s paper contained the following announce- 
ments : — 

“ IMarried in New York, February 24, 18 — , Robert Ber- 
trand, of Newark, to Miss Margaret Tremaine, of the former 
place.’" 

“Died, suddenly, at San Francisco, Cal., Robert, second 
son of the late Dr. Bertrand, of Newark. 

“At Orange, July 18, Charlie, infant son of Robert, de- 
ceased, and Margaret Tremaine Bertrand, aged six months 
and fourteen days. The friends of the family are invited to 
attend his funeral on Friday, at four P. M., at the residence 
of his uncle. Dr. Richard A. Bertrand.” 

The little coffin that stood in the Bertrands’ parlor that 
Friday afternoon was almost covered with flowers. The 
lovely child looked as if he were in sweetest slumber. The 
younger members of the family gazed with mingled awe and 
grief, and the neighbors were subdued by a sincere pity. It 
seemed more like a funeral sacred to Robert’s memory than 
the tiny being whose birth and death had been announced in 
the same words. Philip read the burial service in calm, 
soothing tones. Mabel never left Daisy for an instant. 
The strain on her delicate nature had begun to tell fearfully. 
More than once she had lain fainting in the arms of her new- 
found sister ; but she nerved herself for this last hour with » 
more than human strength. Her thick veil hid her face 
from curious eyes ; and though an occasional convulsive 
shiver shook her slight frame, she made no outward demon- 
strati on. 

She could not trust herself to gaze again on that deai 
face. If she took no formal farewell, it seemed as if hei 


DR. BERTRA^^D’s HOUSEHOLD. 


195 


baby must come back. Yet he lacked neither tears nor 
kisses. Many regretful glances were cast on the beautifully- 
moulded clay. He looked too fair, too perfect, to be laid 
away in the darkness of the grave. 

Afterwards it came to Daisy with what reverent hands 
Richard and Archie had sprinkled the first earth on the 
baby’s breast, and the generous consideration with which 
they all received her, a stranger, whose entrance into the 
family had been marked with trouble from its first date. 
They vied with each other in kindest attentions ; but Tessy, 
whose face was so like Richard^s, found a way to her heart 
immediately. 


.96 


IN TBVST, OK 


CHAPTER XXI. 

One troop of duplicated Hours sped on, 

And one trode out the moments lingeringly, 

So distant seemed the lonely dawn from me ; 

But all was well. 

Bayard Taylob. 

When fainting hearts forget their fears. 

And in the poorest life’s salt cup 
Some rare wine runs, and Hope builds up 
Her rainbow over memory’s tears. 

Gerald Massey. 

By common consent they all yielded Richard to Daisy. 
Mabel expected to see her sink entirely after the funeral; 
but instead she appeared quite composed. She rested on 
the sofa a long while, until the summer twilight waned. 
Tessy’s little fingers found their way to hers, as they all 
clustered about her, talking of the days to come, when her 
home should be among them. Poor, weary dove ! A strong 
hand reached out through the troublous waves, and drew 
her into the ark, where she might remain forevermore. 

After her removal hither had been arranged, Richard men- 
tioned the request concerning Robert, and left the decision 
to Daisy. 

“ Please don’t think me cold or ungrateful,” she replied, 
brokenly. “ I am afraid I do not feel as I should abou; 
him. I forgave him all he made me suffer ; but I can never, 
never forget his cruel neglect of baby. He might have sent 
one little word of love to him, even if he was tired of me. 
And 1 think, if he had his choice, he would not care to sleep 
beside baby. And perhaps it would fret him if he could 
know how often I should visit the spot. Am I very, very 
wicked ? ” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


197 


“ No, my poor child ; I do not wonder at your state of 
feeling. Since Mr. and Mrs. Cummings desire it so much, 1 
think we had better let him remain there.” 

“ I am glad he found friends there to love him. He was 
so handsome, and he could be so tender, so fond. Since he 
could not love me, it is a comfort to know he was never 
wholly desolate.” 

The dreary cadence of the last words pained Ei chard. 
IIow utterly forlorn she had been, he gathered more from 
these occasional sentences, than from her manner in the 
months of their early acquaintance. Thank God, it was 
over now ! He breathed the thought with fervent emo- 
tion. Looking down the days to come, the slight figure of 
Daisy, with her soft brown hair and lum'nous eyes, glorified 
them all. 

Later in the .evening he held a conference with Mabel, 
gratifying her with Daisy’s entire assent to their arrange- 
ments. 

“ 0 Eichard, best and dearest brother, how much you 
have done for us ! Philip and I both think it right to put off 
our marriage another year, if you would like to have me at 
home. Some one ought to repay you.” 

“ My darling ! No, I couldn’t entertain such a proposition. 
Not only Philip, but Mr. Chaloner also, is looking forward 
cO a time when a bright young face shall make glad their 
home. I must not grow selfish when I have a new treasure 
added to my circle. May be no one will ever be quite as 
thoughtful for me as you ; but it is time I was getting out of 
these spoiled ways.” 

“ Selfish ! I do not believe it is anywhere in you, Dick,” 
ihe replied, with proud earnestness. 

“ Well, for my sake, you must be married at the time 
appointed. I don’t like delayed weddings. And my bird- 
ling must go <^are-free to her new home ; there will be 
enough left to render me the most whimsical old bacheloi 
you ever saw.” 


17 ^ 


198 


Ilf TRUST, OR 


No, Dick,” she said, resolutely, “ you deserve a bettei 
fate.” 

“ I think then God will send it to me,” was his low re 
sponse. 

A few days after, Philip said his last lover’s good by, as 
he told Lily. His parting with Daisy was very tender. He 
had been trjing to point her to the true source of all com- 
fort, and found her gentle, humble, and child-like. It was 
impossible not to love her. 

When he had gone, Mabel and she were inseparable. To 
the poor child who had never known the delights of a true 
home, nor the sweetness of family ties, this spot seemed a 
radiant heaven. It was with her grief as it had been with 
theirs : instead of banishing it to the relief of lonely tears, 
they all shared it. After a little she found herself repeating 
scenes that had made the brief happiness of her summer 
— baby endearments and answering smiles ; tender mother- 
joys forever gone. Lingering over these fond remem- 
brances, her heart grew warmly human again. 

There was one break in her month with Mabel — a duty to 
be performed before Daisy could settle in her new home, and 
accept her new life. Richard had proposed that she and Mabel 
should go up to Mrs. Wilcox’s for a day only ; but her plead- 
ing eyes disarmed him. 

“ I would rather go alone,” she said, quietly. “ I think 
Mrs. Wilcox will want me to stay. She has been so kind.” 

“ I mean you shall go up often,” he returned. “ But just 
now a visit might not be prudent.” 

“ Please let me go.” Her lip quivered like tlat of an 
entreating child. 

“ My dear Daisy, you shall do as you will. Only remem 
her, you belong to us now.” 

She laid her cheek on his hand with a mute caress that 
was both fond and grateful. 

He took her up one morning, and at an appointed day 
came for her. How she spent the vigil, in that room where 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


199 


the baby died, he dimly guessed. What hours of anguish, 
what prayers for divine grace, went up to the great white 
throne, and what angels came and ministered to her, he also 
fancied, for she was never out of his mind a moment. 

He thought when she came down the garden path to meet 
him, that lovely August afternoon, he had never seen her 
look sweeter in her days of comparative content. She was 
pale and thin ; her lips had lost their bright coloring ; but the 
holy calm on her countenance fairly transfigured her. He 
remembered observing just such saintly expressions in the 
baby’s face at times. She was glad to see him ; the faint 
flush in her cheek confessed it at his first words. 

Mrs. Wilcox assisted her in packing. Less than a year 
before, she had helped her find places for these books and 
pictures, and welcomed her with motherly fondness. Now 
she paused to say, amid a gush of tears, — 

“ 0 Mrs. Bertrand ! I don’t know what I shall do without 
you ! ” 

Father Wilcox was equally pained at relinquishing her. 
She had spent hours leaning her fair head on his knee, weep- 
ing silent tears, and listening to the tremulous tones, dearer 
to her than ever, for she knew he might soon be with her 
lost darling. All summer he had been growing feebler, and 
was looking daily for the hour when he should “ depart and 
be with Christ.” 

“ Dr. Bertrand said I might come and see you often,” she 
exclaimed, with her farewell. “ Shall it be every week ?” 

The old gentleman’s eyes lighted with sudden jcy. She 
turned to Bichard for approbation. 

“ Yes,” he answered, “ I will bring you up every week.” 

“ Thank you.” The tone was very svveet. 

The trunks were to be sent down the next day. That 
evening, after the joyful welcomes were over, there was an 
animated discussion as to which room should be Daisy’s. 
The three girls had shared the large apartment adjoining 
their sitting-room, while the smaller one was claimed by 


200 


IN lilUST, OK 


Archie. Besides Bichard’s there was only one other — 
“ papa’s room.” 

“ Not where papa died, or mamma either,” said Lily ; “ and 
it’s delightful.” 

“ Suppose we make a sitting-room of that,” was Richard’s 
proposition, “ and give Daisy the present one. You will all 
be nearer together then. And I heard Archie talking quite 
largely of a study; he might take one of the upper rooms, 
and turn his into a sanctum.” 

“ Capital ! ” exclaimed Archie, delightedly. “ You plan 
admirably, Dick. The girls are nowhere in comparison 
We will have a gay time to-morrow.” 

So the next day there was quite a revolution in affairs. 
Archie insisted on hanging Daisy’s pictures, and brought up 
a little etegere that he declared he had heard Richard pro- 
nounce a nuisance in the office. Tessy filled her vases with 
lovely flowers, and the fresh, fragrant room looked .supremely 
inviting. But Daisy persuaded Mabel to share it with her 
during the remainder of her stay. 

The busy days that followed served to draw her from the 
solitude of intense sorrow. She was greatly interested in 
the happy, honorable love before her, so different from her 
own hasty wooing and ill-starred marriage. Philip had ac- 
cepted the position of assistant rector with Mr. Chaloner, 
^nd persuaded his friend to take immediate advantage of it, 
in joining a party of clerical brethren on a tour to the White 
Mountains. Lily counted up the days for Mabel, and in 
ipite of the grief that had fallen upon them, managed to 
ihrow her own peculiar brightness around every one. 

Mabel had too true an estimate of the love offered her to 
2>e weakly despondent at leaving her childhood’s home. In- 
deed, she would have been outwardly cheerful for Richard’s 
sake, if her own serene nature had not sustained her. 
Philip’s visits had been so infrequent, that her evenings, 
And a large portion of her attention, had been devoted ex- 
clusively to her brothers and sisters. More than once she 


DK. BERTH and’ S HOTTSEHOLl). 


201 


had sighed over the prospect of leaving Kichard to the keep- 
ing of one so thoughtless and eager for her own enjoyment 
as Lily. But God had sent this dear little Daisy, with will- 
ing hands and fondest heart, to supply her place. Young, 
and blight almost to childishness, there lingered about her a 
certain subtle power. Her intuitions were fine, and she pos- 
sessed the rare intelligence which divines and harmonizes 
with a mood electrically. Her sense of right was so perfect 
that it was not possible her coming among them would be 
marked by any misunderstandings. Mabel was satisfied to 
leave her treasures in such hands. 

Philip’s arrival diffused a pleasant atmosphere throughout 
the house. Bridal gifts were inspected, packing undertaken 
in a very important manner ; past remembrances and future 
hopes were blended in sad, yet happy talks. For, after all, 
it was no light thing to part thus, to give up all claim to the 
dear old home. 

That the wedding should be quiet surprised no one. The 
day was cloudless, with a touch of summer in the air — a ten- 
der regret over the dying flowers. They were all satisfied 
to have no gay rejoicings. Indeed, the memory of Bobert’s 
departure, and his recent death, came up too forcibly. Lin- 
gering kisses, unbidden tears that fell softly, and fond clasp- 
ing of hands, were mingled in their bridal joy. Mabel was 
to travel a while, and then proceed direct to Bothelan. 

“ Two vacant places,” mused Bichard, when the calls and 
congratulations were over. Then his eye wandered down to 
the petite figure draped in black, with satin-smooth hair, and 
deep, sorrowful eyes — a treasure that had come to him out 
of a great ruin ; a pearl stranded on the shore from some con- 
vmlsion of the natural order of things. He felt she was hh 
in a peculiar sense. 

He so far overcame his dislike of Mrs. Davis as to pay her 
another visit. She had accepted their separation as inevita- 
ble ; indeed she was well satisfied to find her charge in good 
hands — hands too strong ever to relinquish her. He detaihul 


202 


IN TRUST, OR 


the recent sad occurrences, and his arrangements for the 
future, claiming her most solemn promise never to divulge 
a word of that painful past. 

Daisy’s weekly calls on Mrs. Wilcox were a source of great 
interest to both. Occasionally they were extended to the 
whole day. Mr. Wilcox had failed rapidly, and wan no 
longer able to sit up, except for a few moments. 

“ I think,” she said one day to Richard, “ I ought to stay, 
if you are willing.” 

He rather liked the odd, timid way she had of deferring to 
him. He could not refuse the pleading face, irresistible 
with the light of its tender brown eyes, although he said, 
lingeringly, — 

“ I am afraid you will overtask your strength.” 

“ There isn’t anything to do ; besides, Mrs. Wilcox is so 
very careful of me.” 

She was thankful ever afterwards that she went, and re- 
mained until the last sad moment. 

“ I don’t know what I should have done without her ! ” 
was Mrs. Wilcox’s exclamation. ’ “ After father grew too 
feeble to speak, she always understood just what he wanted. 
She would sit for hours smoothing his hair or holding his 
hands, and repeating passages of Scripture. And at the last 
I shall never -forget the look and tone with which she said, 
‘ Who shall separate us from the love of Christ ? ’ He gave 
her a heavenly smile, closed his eyes, and never stirred 
again. She would not even unclasp his hand until lie had 
been dead many minutes. 0 Dr. Bertrand, if there ever 
was an angel in this world, that child is one. I can’t see 
why life had to be so hard and painful to her ; but she bears 
it all with the patience of a saint. There doesn’t seem any- 
thing earthly about her.” 

Richard was not selfish, yet he felt glad no tie beyond the 
family held her now. She was all theirs. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


203 


CHAPTER XXII. 

She is like a harp the winds do play upon; mark her well. She shall tell yoa 
irhat she dreams unwittingly, for her face is a mask — nothing but a veil, and 
under it you shall see her heart beat. Old Play. 

Lily sat playing the Henrietta waltz, while Archie and 
Tessy whirled up and down the long parlor in graceful 
evolutions. On a low ottoman, by the window, Daisy half 
reclined, dividing her attention between the dancers and 
the gray, sullen skies. The day had been very unprom 
ising ; and now a fine rain began to fall. 

“ How is the weather, Daisy ?” And Archie kissed his 
hand to her as he neared the corner. 

“ It rains a little,” she answered, hesitatingly. 

“0 !” and the dancers came to a full pause. “ Do you 
believe they will come, Lily ? ” 

Lily glanced at her watch. “Yes,” she returned, “they 
will be here in five minutes. It didn’t rain when they started, 
you know, and clergymen, like doctors, are not afraid of a 
little storm.” 

“ And Bel said, almost the last word, that she would 
surely be home at Thanksgiving ! ” exclaimed Archie ; “ so 
go on with the music.” And they took another turn. 

A carriage stopped, and before Daisy could announce it 
they all rushed to the hall door. There were Philip and 
Mabel, sure enough ; the hardly three months’ wife rosy and 
smiling with the fondest of caresses for every one. Dur- 
ing the first few moments they all talked and laughed in 
chorus. 

“ Now you may go up stairs,” said Lily. “ Daisy has 


204 


IN TRUST, OR 


arranged her room for you, and, 0 Bel, Mrs. Charlton sent 
in a real bridal bouquet ! ” 

The apartment was fragrant with the spicy. Oriental odoi 
of tuberoses, and as neat as tasteful hands could render it. 
The three self-elected maids of honor hovered around their 
fair queen, assisted in removing her travelling habiliments, 
and were so attentive that Philip declared himself jealous, 
and insisted on Tessy coming to brush his hair. 

“ There’s the doctor,” said a quiet voice. 

Mabel ran away from her maids, and in a moment was 
clasped to Bichard’s heart. There was only the merest 
space of time for conversation before the dinner bell rang. 

When they entered the dining-room a general halt oc- 
curred among the three girls. Daisy’s face flushed, and 
she glanced inquiringly at Lilian. 

“ 0, Mabel is company now,” Lily responded, with a 
laugh ; “ so, Mrs. Bertrand, you may keep your place. You 
see we have promoted Daisy to the head of the table, in 
consideration of her great age ! ” 

Yes, I have forfeited all right to the old place,” was 
Mabel’s smiling rejoinder. 

Besides,” said Lily, gayly, “ Philip couldn’t sit at the 
corner of the table, and I dare say the most trivial separa- 
tion would be considered cruel.” 

“ That’s only during the honeymoon, Lily,” Philip ex- 
3laimed. “We have come to the second stage.” 

“ In which Mabel cries to have her own way, I suppose,” 
Lily retorted, saucily. 

“ And I, in my superior wisdom, beg her to set a good 
example for her sister,” was Philip’s rejoinder. 

Lily was not to be worsted in this sort of light skirmish- 
ing ; she kept them all laughing at the readiness with which 
she parried or subverted Philip’s logic. It was a most 
pleasant reunion. Mabel had been a prompt and generous 
correspondent ; but the girls were not satisfled until they 
had carried her ofl for a nice talk, in which the particulars 


DK. BEBTRAND’s household. 


205 


of her bridal trip and home coming at Rothelan were 
described. 

“ It was all most delightful,” she said. “ Mr. Chalonei 
and Philip love each other like father and son ; he is the 
dearest old man in the world. I think I like him better 
because he doesn’t in the slightest remind me of papa. His 
hair is nearly all white, and his face, though wrinkled, is 
fair and calm ; a little sad, perhaps, but so pleasant. Then 
the rectory is the oddest, cosiest nook in the world, standing 
back fiom the main road, up an avenue bordered by wide- 
spreading elms. It is rough gray stone, nearlj covered 
with ivy. My rooms are all on the second floor. Philip’s 
study and our sitting-room have folding doors between ; 
then we have a large sleeping apartment, bath-room, and 
hosts of closets. On the opposite side of the hall are three 
handsome spare chambers ; so you see I can accommodate 
you all. Mr. Chaloner has rooms down stairs just like 
Philip’s, except that the ^tting-room is used for family pur- 
poses ; and there is a parlor full of lovely pictures, and a 
piano. Mrs. Brown is housekeeper, and Peggy, an old col- 
ored woman, comes in to help occasionally. I don’t have 
anything to do but play and sing, and read aloud when the 
clergy come in tired with their labors. All the city families 
have gone home ; so the congregation is quite small. It 
seems like living in an enchanted palace.” 

“You have certainly fallen upon the days of Haroun Al- 
raschid. But wait a while until you are made president of 
the sewing and charitable societies, or some parishioner 
calls you up in the middle of the night to make a little 
broth for her sick children.” 

“ 0 Lily ! I think, instead, they’ll all spoil me. I did 
make some vinegar toast one day for an old lady who is ill, 
and very fanciful, and she will not believe any one else can 
make it as good. I like most of those old-fashioned country 
people. We have been out to tea a great many times, and 
[ always feel sorry I cannot eat any more ; for they provide 
18 


206 


IN TKTJ8T, OP 


SO bountifully, and always seem disappointed if you do not 
taste of everything.” 

“ Bravo ! ” said Archie, laughing. “ That last remark is 
worthy of Lily.” 

“ And, Archie, one of the farmers sent me some beautiful 
white Spanish fowls, and Philip had a gallon of currant wine 
and several bushels of splendid apples given him, and hosts 
of little things. There are two sisters, maiden ladies, 
ijuilting me the most beautiful white spread you ever saw. 
They are ready to love Philip on Mr. Chaloner’s account, 
but 1 hope he will prove worthy of their affection on his 
own.” 

“ Very modest indeed,” said Lily. “ I hope they will 
love Mrs. Philip. If they fail to, we shall bring her home 
again.” 

Mabel held up her wedding-ring finger. 

“ Zenobia, with golden chains,” laughed Lily. 

“ Think of a better simile ; for O, Miss Lily, I shall take 
you into training some day. Philip has proposed that, after 
Christmas, you make me a nice long visit ; he thinks by 
that time I shall have a longing for home faces. If we. live 
until next summer, I want you all. The drives down the 
river are so lovely ! And there are West Point, the Catskills, 
and ever so many places of interest.” 

“ And I shall be so well trained that I can begin to set 
Tessy an example,” Lily said, demurely. 

Bichard and Philip, having finished their cigars, joined the 
party. They were wonderfully happy, even to Daisy, who 
said little, but smiled in her pleasant fashion. It was a 
delightful family group. 

Are they not charming ? ” Lily asked of Daisy, as they 
were preparing for slumber. “ I never saw a couple more 
nicely matched. Philip is attentive and affectionate, yet has 
that little touch of authority one likes to see in a husband ; 
and Mabel is so sweet and deferential. They are just like 
story-book psople. Why are you smiling ? ” 


DE. BEKTEAND’s HOrSEHOLD. 


207 


“ I was thinking what a certain young lady said this morn- 
ing concerning a husband’s authority.” 

“ 0, well, these things set elegantly on Mabel, but I 
could not stand them.” 

* ' Wait until your time of loving comes.” 

I think I could love the hero of my choice a great deal ; 
but if there was a chain, I should fret at it. I should always 
be trying my power with his. It would never do for him to 
be ‘ weaker than his task,’ as Carlyle says, for I couldn’t 
respect him; and if he was the stronger — ” 

“ You will only think, in that day, how you can best pour 
out the treasures of your heart. You will want to give con- 
tinually. I think all women do.” 

“ You are such a darling ! I shall never be half as good. 
But I mean to have some fun before I promise to obey;** 
and Lily kissed her fondly. 

The next day was Thanksgiving. Then followed Friday ; 
and on Saturday Mr. and Mrs. Gregory, as Archie styled 
them, started for home. The visit had been one of thorough 
enjoyment, and already the younger members of the family 
began to count on the coming summer. 

By the time the holidays were well over, Bichard learned 
the second daughter of his house and heart was likely to 
prove a much greater charge than Mabel with her one ad- 
mirer. She was certainly handsome. Tall, slender, with 
that subtle rounding of form that renders every movement 
graceful ; a small, proudly-poised head, with its wealth of 
golden hair, whose reflexes caught that glittering bronze 
tinge painters love, drooping in silken soft ringlets ; a 
complexion of purest blonde, through which the varying 
emotions spoke in pale pink or carnation hues ; straight and 
rather haughty features, and deep, dark eyes, that seemed 
always changing from purple to black, or back again. The 
arch of the brow was done in richest brown ; the long lashes 
were just tinged with gold ; but above the loveliness of face, 
expression held perfect sway. She was bright, dazzling, 


208 


tN TKtJST, OR 


imperious, defiant, and tender by turns. She loved with a 
passionate eagerness that thrilled one ; yet it was seldom 
she seemed to strike upon a vein of affection ; so she laughed^ 
teased, was demure or tantalizing, as the whim took her. 
Affluent in spirits, easy and fascinating in her manners, and 
possessing abilities of a high order, she might have queened 
it in a much larger circle. Richard had disapproved of her 
going into society this winter, as much on account of her 
youth as Robert’s death ; yet the young people were not long 
in ignorance of the attraction at Dr. Bertrand’s. If she 
could not go to parties, there were concerts and lectures, 
and long evenings at home, with music for an excuse. 

It must be confessed she developed a decided taste for 
flirting. She laughed over jealous rivalries, and adroitly 
managed to evade ill consequences. Richard’s gentle re- 
monstrances were taken kindly, but he could see they had 
no effect upon her. He dreaded restriction. There was 
something in her eye that recalled Robert — a dangerous, 
luminous light, that might burst into flame, and scatter red- 
hot rays far and wide. It would be idle to set Daisy at man- 
aging her ; indeed, utterly impossible. He did insist that 
they should walk together, though he made this appear as 
solicitude for Daisy. Yet he felt wonderfully relieved when 
Philip, being in New York on business, came over for Lily 
to accompany him home to Rothelan. 

How quiet the house seemed afterwards ! The parlor was 
deserted, and Tessy’s practising the only music Richard 
heard. Thinking this over one evening, he proposed that 
Daisy should commence learning. 

“ When they all go away,” he said, smilingly, “ I shall 
Lave only you left to make the house bright, and music is 
one of my luxuries ; I cannot give it up. I never remember 
a time when some one did not play and sing. I have seen 
mother sit, with a baby in her lap, learning a new song 
father had brought her. You see we have all been greatly 
indulged.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


209 


•“ 0, if I could be any comfort to you, after all you have 
done for me ! ” Daisy returned, with a sudden gush of emo- 
tion. “ I think sometimes I must have died, if it had not. 
been for you ; ” and she shivered at the remembrance of the 
desolation that had yawned before her when he came. 

“ Yes,” he said, in a gravely sweet tone, “you can be a 
comfort to me during the coming years. It appears but 
yesterday that the house was full of wee, toddling things ; 
now Bel is married, and Tessy nearly ten, and in the ceme- 
tery there is more than one green grave belonging to us. 
It seems as if God had sent you to fill some vacant place.” 

She glanced up with tender, tearful eyes. In such words 
as his she found her dearest home welcome. 

Daisy had a quick ear and much natural love for music. 
Richard’s desire was sufficient to set her to work in good 
earnest. Her voice had no great power or depth ; it was 
low, with a mournful chord running through it, specially 
adapting it to those old ballads of love and despair. More 
than once Bichard had listened to her singing “ Bonny 
Doon,” as she sat at her sewing, until its infinite pathos 
made his heart ache, it seemed so like her own sad life. 
Did some dim presentiment ally her with sorrow ? 

Lily’s letters were great sources of enjoyment. Her ready 
sense of the ludicrous, her droll, piquant descriptive powers, 
and the merry exaggeration that seemed a part of her nature, 
were not likely to suffer from dearth. Bichard thought her 
fate surely followed her as he listened to the accounts of 
tea-drinkings given in her honor, and how the farmers’ sons 
insisted upon bringing her home in an independent sleigh. 
There was a Mr. Joslyn, who soon gained sufficient courage 
to come to the rectory, and inquire for Miss Bertrand, and 
who walked home from church with her, and was quite de- 
voted — considered, indeed, the “catch” of the village, — 
and Lily gravely wondered what sort of a farmer’s wife she 
would make. 

But when she had been at Bothelan about six weeks, an 
18 ^^ 


210 


IN TRUST, OR 


extraordinary event happened, which she chronicled at length 
for Daisy’s perusal. After a little ordinary chat, she btjgan 
with, — 

“ And now. Pet, I have a most romantic incident to relate 
— quite a story-book affair, indeed. Four days ago we were 
all down in the sitting-room, Mabel sewing in true matronly 
fashion, dear old Mr. Chaloner, suffering from a severe cold, 
pillowed on the sofa, and I reading aloud. Philip was out 
making calls in Mr. Joslyn’s sleigh, which that young man 
had very thoughtfully sent over. All the afternoon there had 
been a succession of equipages passing — dainty cutters, and 
great family sleighs, freighted with the beauty and fashion of 
the city. A residence some distance above here, belonging 
to a wealthy New York merchant, was to be opened that 
night for a grand birthday dinner and reunion. The rush 
was over at last, and as it was growing dusky, I closed my 
book. Mabel had just remarked on the stillness, when there 
was a sudden whirr, and a horse, dashing up the carriage 
road, ran the sleigh against the large sycamore, breaking it 
to fragments, and hurling its occupant some distance in the 
snow, while the horse, wheeling suddenly round, started off 
again at a frantic rate. Mabel screamed, certain it was 
Philip ; but in another instant I saw the driver, who had 
sprung out as the sleigh turned, and the sight of a strange 
face gave me hope. We were almost paralyzed, though ; 
and I can’t tell you what a welcome sight it was to see 
Philip ride up the lane unharmed. 

“ He assisted the driver in bringing in the poor fellow. 
Philip went for a surgeon immediately, while Mrs. Brown 
applied some temporary bandages, and tried to restore him 
to consciousness. I waited impatiently for Philip’s return. 
The gentleman appeared to suffer excruciatingly. W e learned 
his shoulder was dislocated, his arm broken, his head slightly 
cut, and that he had sustained numerous severe bruises. 
He managed to make Philip understand that he was Mrs. 
Suydam’s brother, and had just returned unexpectedly from 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


211 


Europe. On learning his sister was here, he came up with 
the train, intending to surprise his friends by appearing at 
the party. He had some difficulty in procuring a conveyance, 
and was forced to accept of a rather unmanageable horse, 
and, as events proved, an ignorant driver. 

“ He would not allow any word to be sent to his sister 
that night ; but the next morning Philip drove over for her. 
She was almost wild at first, and insisted on having him 
removed where she could be with him constantly; but the 
surgeon said it would be at the risk of his life. She re* 
mained until this morning, and has now gone to New York 
for a trusty nurse, as she considers the extra care quite 
dreadful for us. Indeed, the alarm did affect Mabel somewhat. 

“ I am installed as chief attendant, though there is noth- 
ing to do but turn my patient’s head tenderly when he is 
tired of having it in one position, and give him a drink at 
rare intervals. Philip watches with him at night. 

“ As I am writing from my post of honor, I suppose a 
description of my hero will not come amiss. His name is 
Ulric Auchester, and for several years he has been connected 
with some of our first-class journals. Think of my stumbling 
over a genius ! One can see that his sister is wonderfully 
proud of him. He is as tall as Philip, and much handsomer, 
which is saying a great deal, I am aware. His forehead is 
broad and high, edged with loose, jetty rings of hair, fine 
and soft enough for a girl. His eyes are perfect in their 
surroundings. I have not seen them fairly open yet, but 
imagine them black. For the rest, he is ‘ bearded like a 
pard,’ and displays a row of white, even teeth, through a 
line of pale blue that will doubtless be ‘ ripe scarlet ’ some 
day. In short, one of the novel heroes who are proud, 
fiftern^ tender, unreasonable, savage, and yet — perfection. • 

“ And now, little Daisy-fiower, I expect you will not hear 
anything from me except ‘Mr. Auchester’ for a month to 
come, as the surgeon declares he cannot be removed before 
that time. I shall give up my rustic admirers, and take to 


212 


IN TRUST, OR 


nursing for the sake of the grateful looks he bestows upon 
me. Pray that I don’t lose my heart, in the mean while.” 

Richard laughed, and then a perplexed look crossed hia 
brow. Daisy noticed it, and said, quickly, — 

“You must not mind all Lily’s nonsense. She is so 
young that she thinks only of amusement ; and yet she has 
a great deal of real good sense.” 

“ But she is so ready to make the most of her attractions, 
and not in the least ignorant of her power. What is girlish 
trifling now may be something serious hereafter.” 

“ Lily is so pretty, though, that people cannot help ad- 
miring her. She is too good to trifle with any one who 
really loved her.” 

“ And you are a precious little champion,” he said, with 
a fond smile. “ I only hope she will be as happy in the end 
as Mabel.” 

There was hardly a letter that came afterwards in which 
Daisy did not skip certain passages that would have in- 
creased Richard’s fears. The nurse was sent up to Rothe- 
lan ; yet Lily appeared to be continually needed in the sick 
room. Mr. Auchester became a favorite with the whole 
household. Philip wrote letters for him, Mr. Chaloner paid 
him frequent visits, and his improvement was as rapid as 
one could expect. But Lily was not slow in learning that 
she could give their guest both pleasure and pain, and she 
did not hesitate to vary the treatment. 

Mrs. Suydam came up often, and was delighted with the 
care bestowed upon her brother. Mabel, in one of her epis- 
tles, said, — 

“ I don’t know but Lily will have her head turned by Mrs, 
Suydam’s admiration. Being dark herself, she thinks blonde 
beauty the only true loveliness. I like her exceedingly, and 
she is a great favorite of Mr. Chaloner’s ; but it would sur- 
prise you to see how she takes to Lily. They are very 
wealthy, and she goes in a great deal of society. Her 
description of the party at her house was enchanting.” 


DK. Bertrand's household. 


213 


Richard’s first thought was to send for Lily. He had an 
uneasy presentiment of danger that he could not banish 
Daisy looked so disappointed when he broached it, and 
knowing the feeling was solely for Lily, he had not the cour- 
age to insist upon her recall. Surely Mabel would see if 
anything went amiss, and if Lily grew too much elated by 
the attentions of her new friends, their departure, perhaps, 
would work the best cure. Yet perhaps Richard was more 
strictly conscientious because he felt that he did not really 
Qfted her at home. 


214 


TN TEUST, OB 


CHAPTEK XXIII. 

So doth the shipwrecked mariner at last 
Cling’ to the rock whereon the vessel struck. 

Goethb, 

Henceforth 

The course of life that seemed so flowery to me. 

With you for guide and master, — only you, — 

Becomes the sea cliff’s pathway, broken short. 

And ending in a ruin. 

Idyls of the King. 

Daisy ran into the library one morning to dust and put the 
place in order. Of late they had taken to sitting here in the 
evening. After she had finished, she emptied the basket of 
waste paper into her apron, and was gathering up the cor- 
ners when a fragment in firm, elegant penmanship, caught 
her eye. 

She knew it so well ; and it gave her a pang of regret to 
think Robert’s memory was passing so far out of his brother’s 
heart, that he no longer cared to keep mementos of him. 
She fondled the paper with regretful tenderness, as she 
thought of him leagues away, sleeping among strangers. ^ 
She had never yet brought herself to destroy one of the 
notes he had sent her in the old, happy days, and she 
scanned this with a feeling that an indignity had been of- 
fered to the dead. 

What was there in it to transfix her so — to bring a white 
stony terror into her face ? The very floor seemed sliding 
from under her, and voices rang in her ears, as if the whole 
world was crying out a fearful secret. Like characters of 
living flame these words danced before her eyes : “ The 
girl has not the slightest legal claim on me, you well know; 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


215 


I’m not sure but sbe was leagued with Mother Davis to en- 
trap me, for they thought I was made of money. I feel 
perfectly free to marry, and bring my true wife home, at any 
time — ” 

There was no mistaking the person to whom this referred. 
Like a sudden revelation the events of her married life 
flashed over her — Eobert’s mysterious language, that she 
had failed to explain satisfactorily to herself ; Mrs. Davis’s 
anger at his sudden journey, and the power- with which she 
had compelled him to make some provision for the wife he 
was about to desert ; his utter silence concerning herself and 
the baby afterwards ; and many deeds of Richard’s, that she 
had allowed to pass without suspicion at the time, because 
occupied wholly with her child. He had not acknowledged 
her marriage publicly until after Robert’s death ! 

She looked for some other fragment of the letter, but in 
vain. A sickening agony sped through every pulse. Her 
temples throbbed in great bounds, her breath came in pain- 
ful gasps ; and when, at last, she threw the papers back in the 
basket, and dragged herself up to her room, her very limbs 
seemed chilled with anguish. Who could tell her the truth ? 
Not Mrs. Wilcox — not Richard — she could never ask him; 
but Mrs. Davis must know. Did Robert ever think she was 
leagued with that woman to entrap him ! 

0 God ! why had she not died with her baby ? Why had 
such a beautiful life opened before her ? Why had such love 
come to soothe her hungry, desolate heart ? If not Robert’s 
lawful wife, what right had she in this household — or to her 
very name ? Better some far desert, or days of distasteful, 
wearisome toil, than this pleasant existence held on such a 
tenure. How could she bear the burden ? How could sbe 
stay here ? 

Mechanically she rose, her step unsteady, her fingers 
trembling so that she could scarcely use them, and, as if urged 
by some irresistible impulse, began to dress. When the 
simple toilet had been languidly performed, she put on he/ 


216 


IN TRUST, OR 


cloak and bonnet, the thick mourning veil effectually hiding 
her face. Then she walked slowly down stairs, calling to 
Ann that she was going out for a while. 

The keen, biting air of early March brought out a latent 
strength. She met no familiar face in her walk to the de- 
pot ; and the cars were just starting. Not until she saw the 
houses fairly whirling past did she dare to look her spectral 
errand in the face. She was going to Mrs. Davis, deter- 
mined to learn* the whole truth. Perhaps she had been 
wrong in so readily giving up her first friend, and God was 
punishing her in this manner — sending her back to the life 
she had shrunk from. Crushed and humiliated, she scarcely 
knew whither to turn. 

She had never seen Mrs. Davis since the day of their 
parting at Orange. Her delicate intuitions warned her that 
Richard preferred to have the acquaintance die out ; and it 
was not a pleasurable one to her. She shivered a little now, 
as, leaving the stage, she walked through the dirty street. 
The house appeared dingier and coarser than ever, and the 
blear-eyed stragglers, entering and leaving, filled her with 
dismay. Taking the private entrance, she knocked at the 
door of the back room. Mrs. Davis opened it, starting back 
in astonishment. 

“ Land sakes ! What upon earth sent you here, child ? 
You look as if you was just raised from the dead. Do take 
a cheer, and thaw out a little ; you look a’most froze. Be you 
well ? ” 

Margaret dropped into the chair. Her torture was too 
tense for words at the first moment. 

“Nothin’s happened to you — has it? You look kind o’ 
skeery and ghost-like in them black cloze. Dr. Bertrand 
nor any on em’ hain’t been ugly — have they ? ” 

“ No, mother.” It seemed right to use the old term now. 
“ But I came to ask you a question : wLy was I not Robert 
Bertrand’s lawful wife ? ” 

Mrs, Davis’s face lighted up with an angry flush, as she 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


211 


said, in a quick, excited tone, “ Has that man, has Dr. Ber- 
trand, dared to tell you this, after all his promises ? ” 

Her great tenderness for Eichard overcame her. Even in 
this agony she could not have him unjustly blamed, and she 
replied, with sobs that sounded in her voice only, — 

“ No ; he has been all that is kind and noble. He docs 
not know that I have discovered his secret, or that I came 
here to-day. And now I want to know all, all, if it should 
kill me dead on the spot.” 

There was a strange, terrible power in her eyes and voice. 
Mrs. Davis shrunk away, crying, — 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Marg’ret, are you crazy ? ” 

“ No, but I think I shall be if you keep me waiting. 
Quick, quick ! you torture me to death ! ” 

Mrs. Davis could not resist the imperious demand. In a 
hesitating tone, as if she feared she was doing wrong, she 
supplied the missing links in Margaret’s history, softening 
— to her honor be it said — the terrible truth she was forced 
to reveal. 

The poor young thing listened with dry, glittering eyes, 
and pulses that seemed to send a liquid fire of pain through 
her ice-cold frame. Long after it was finished, she sat like 
a statue. Frightened at her calmness, Mrs. Davis spoke 
again, kindly. 

A terrible cry broke from her white lips. She threw her- 
self at Mrs. Davis’s feet, exclaiming, hoarsely, — 

“ Mother, please take me back. I will be satisfied with 
tlie old life. I will tend in the shop, do anything you desire, 
only take me back ! I am nothing to the Bertrands. I 
Iiave no right to their home, their love ! ” 

There was a sense of justice and fitness in that rough 
woman’s heart. She said, with a blunt earnestness that was 
almost tender, — 

“ You’ve the hest right there, child, and Dr. Bertrand feels 
BO. He’s a proud man, and wouldn’t have done as he has, 
if his conscience hadn’t led him just that way. He knows 
19 


218 


IN TRUST, OR 


Robert acted shamefully. After the baby died, he come over 
here and fairly swore me to secrecy. He said he’d took you 
home, and that you never should leave them ; he won’t hear 
to your goin’ — I can tell you that ! ” 

“ I cannot stay, I cannot stay,” she moaned, crouching 
?till lower. 

“ Listen, child. You know this ain’t any place for you. 
Y'ou’ro a sight too han’some to tend bar unless you liked the 
talk and fun. You don’t; you’ve tried it enough to know. 
I can feel you ain’t my kind. God made you nicer and 
finer. I don’t say this because you put on airs — it’s all 
nat’ral as the breath you draw. There ain’t no company for 
you here. You want somethin’ more than bread to eat, and 
you can have it at the Bertrands. They love you ; they’re 
companions for you. 0 Marg’ret, you’d die here.” 

The poor girl wrung her hands. 

Will you tell me how you found this all out ? ” Mrs. 
Divis asked, after another long pause. 

Margaret related the incidents of the morning. 

“ If I’d ’a known that first, you’d never got a word out o 
me. You see Dr. 'Bertrand’s been keepin’ this from every- 
body, and tryin’ his best to make you happy. There ain’t 
nothin’ for him to find out and twit you with. If he could, 
he’d call Robert out of his grave, and make him marry you ; 
and to leave him don’t seem just the right kind of pay, when 
he’s been so gen’rous. I know you ain’t ungrateful, Mar- 
g’ret.” 

Her forced strength gave way in a flood of tears. Mrj. 
Davis followed up the impression, setting the truths of the case 
very clearly before her. If Margaret had related one unkind 
incident, her heart and home would have opened at once to 
the desolate one. But Dr. Bertrand would be deeply pained 
if she persisted in leaving them, and the explanation neces- 
sary for such a step could not fail to embarrass him. It was 
from this view that Margaret assented with shivering reluc- 
tance. She could not resolve to wound one so dear as Dr. 


DB. BEBTKAND’s household. 


219 


Bertrand, in this painful manner. For many moments she 
sat in deep thought. 

“You’ll stay and have some dinner?’’ Mrs. Davis said, 
seeing her rise as if to depart. 

“No. If I must go back, it had better be immediately 
I suppose it is best, for the present.” Her tone was dreary 
in the extreme. It touched her listener. 

“ Marg’ret,” she said, holding the trembling form to her 
heart in an almost motherly clasp, “ it is right. He meant, 
all along, to make you happy. But if you ca7iH stay, come 
here, and I’ll do my best for you. You shall go to school 
again till you’re able to teach. God knows I’m sorry for 
you. I hate the day Bobert Bertrand came in this house.” 

There was a sad, clinging caress ; then, gathering her 
cloak about her, the poor child turned to leave the room 
with that touch of dignity always characterizing her. The 
clouds were lowering, the wind fiercer than ever. Uncon- 
sciously she said to herself, — 

“ ‘ My life is cold, and dark, and dreary.* ** 

For the first few steps her limbs almost refused to support 
her. It seemed as if she must sink to the earth. Rallying 
a little, she tried to pray for strength to take up this cross, 
and bear it even to the Mount of Calvary, if need be. 

She was glad to reach home before Tessy. Changing her 
dress, she threw herself on her knees, and remained there 
until she heard a sweet, childish voice call, — 

“ Daisy, where are you ? ” 

“ In my room.” She summoned all her endurance. 

“ Daisy, darling, how cold you are ! You don’t look a bit 
‘ crimson tipped,’ unless it’s the end of your nose. Where 
nave you been ? ” 

“ I went out — of an errand.” It was all she could do to 
manage her voice. 

“ And you just returned in time. There’s a wretched 
storm beginning — fine, cutting sleet. Let us go to tha 


220 


IN TRUST, OR 


sitting-room, and play chess while we get nicely warm, as 
Dick and the dinner are not within our reach.” 

She felt glad to grant the child’s request. Tessy was try- 
ing to learn the game systematically, without talking, and 
the play seemed to promise a rest. To her the pieces had 
heretofore appeared like human beings ; but now she had no 
heart for the mimic warfare. And, by association, Kobert’s 
face and form rose before her — the first bright dreams she 
had cherished, the terrible reality. Could she endure to the 
end ? And what would the end be ? 

Diehard sprang up the steps with a bound. Taking in 
the situation, he congratulated Tessy. Another move, and 
the child laughingly exclaimed, “ Checkmate ! ” 

“ What a bitter storm ! ” Daisy said, walking towards the 
window. 

“ Yes ; and I’m compelled to tramp out again. I found 
a slate full down stairs. My head aches, and I feel wonder- 
fully like staying at home, and being petted.” 

Tessy sprang to his side, and began to administer. Then 
Archie entered with a merry greeting, and presently the 
dinner bell rang. 

The grayness of the day rendered Daisy’s paleness less 
noticeable. She rarely had any color, save when excited. 
Archie sustained the principal part of the conversation, 
having some school troubles to relate ; so her silence passed 
unremarked. When Diehard went out, they all repaired to 
the library, and, after it grew too dark to study, clustered 
together in the twilight to have a good talk, as Archie 
phrased it. 

“ What should we do without Daisy ! ” was Tessy’s fervent 
exclamation. “ Lily considers us a nuisance in the evening, 
and if she visits Bel twice a year, and stays six months each 
time, she won’t be of much moment to us. And likely 
some time she’ll be getting married. But, Daisy, you don’t 
ever mean to have another lover — do you ? ” 

No, dear.” The tone was infinitely solemn and sweet. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


221 


“ rm so glad ! It will be seven years before I am as old 
as Lily, and it would break my heart if there wasn’t some 
one at home to love me all that time ! ” 

“ You don’t consider me of the slightest account,” bristled 
up Archie. 

“ 0, you will have to go to college pretty soon, and then 
you will fall in love, and be married. I’ll promise to like 
your wife some, but there can never be any one quite so dear 
as Daisy. You’re such a little darling ! ” and a rain of kisses 
covered the quiet face. 

“ When you are grown, Tessy, you may stay at home, and 
take care of Dick. I’ll build a pretty house, and Daisy 
shall come and live with me.” 

“ No, you won’t. Master Archie ! Dick will never let 
Daisy go away,” was the confident reply. 

“ Daisy isn’t bound to obey him ! ” said Archie, loftily. 
He had a great, boyish fondness for Daisy, and, with the 
romance of scarce fifteen years, thought it possible, when he 
grew to man’s estate, to persuade her to fill the dearest 
position in that enchanted castle — a dream of the future. 

“Would you go away, Daisy, unless Richard gave you 
leave ? ” and, with a triumphant faith, Tessy glanced up ; 
but the twilight was pitiful, and hid the death-like face of 
agony. Reaching out to kiss it, the child exclaimed, in 
surprise, — 

“ Why, Daisy, you are crying ! What is the matter ? ” 

“Nothing, nothing, only — ” and a convulsive sob tore 
up from her very heart. “ I love you all so dearly, so 
dearly ! 0, how could I go away ! ” 

“ You never will,” was Tessy’s positive and consoling reply. 

A ring at the door startled them. It was Freddy Chari* 
ton. His cousins had come from Bloomfield, and they were 
to have out their magic lantern. His mother would play 
quadrilles for them afterwards, but they wanted Tessy and 
Archie to complete the set. The resolute little fellow would 
Uke no denial. He even begged Mrs. Bcitrand to come. 

19 * 


122 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ No,” Daisy replied, with a great effort at cheerfulness 
“ The doctor will be home presently. I shall not be lor e- 
Bome in this little while.” 

They went rather reluctantly. Now that the restraint was 
removed, Daisy, lowered the light, and crept shiveringly to 
the corner of the hearth, by the register. A bitter, dreary 
8en,^e of suffering stole over her. IIow many times, in her 
short life, she had longed for love ! Now it was proving 
itself a subtle torture. She had no claim on these genei ous 
hearts. Nay, more, she felt as if she had been forced upon 
them from the beginning. There was a wild desire to go 
away, to put such a distance between them that even visiting 
would be out of the question. Or if she could die ! 

She did not cry, or make the faintest moan ; but every 
nerve felt sore and strained, as if she had been on the rack. 
She thought of her little baby with sorrowful gratitude. He 
was safe in heaven, as Dr. Bertrand had said that fearful 
night, “ taken from the evil to come.” Ah, how blind she 
had been ! God, who knew best, was most kind in that ter- 
rible stroke. How could she endure the days 3 ^et to be ? 
What must she do ? 

She sat in that passionless despair until she heard Richard 
opening the door, when she rose, and went slowly out to 
meet him. It was a tender fashion with Bel and Lily ; of 
late it had fallen to her. 

“ The storm increases — does it not ? ” she asked, keeping 
her face well in the shade. 

“ Yes ; it is a bitter night. I have half a mind to say 
neither love nor money, hardly duty, will tempt me to face 
it again. What a rosy, cheerful warmth there is through 
this house ! I am so glad to be at home.” 

“ And your headache ? ” 

“It is no better. I have probably taken a severe cold. 
This March wind runs through a person like a knife, and, to 
use an exaggeration, ‘ Pm absolutely tired to death ! ’ ” 

He had taken off his coat while saying this, and now 


DK. Bertrand’s household 


22 ^ 


passing his aTm over Daisy’s shoulder, entered the library 
to resume dressing-gown and slippers, and asked where the 
children were. 

She gave the desired information. 

“ Haven’t you been lonesome, little bird ? Yet I’m rather 
glad of a nice (|uiet time, for I want you to try your skill in 
exorcism. You ought to have profited by Lily’s instruc* 
tions.” 

“ Shall I read to you ? ” Her heart sank within her at 
thought of the effort. 

“No ; I want to be comforted in some other manner — as 
you pet up Archie occasionally. Suppose you take the cor- 
ner of the sofa, and hold the pillow for me.” 

She arranged it to his liking; and stretching himself out 
indolently, he rested his head in her lap. There was a soft, 
pleasant light in the room ; but they heard the wailing of 
the storm without, and the sleet crackling under the feet 
of the few who were compelled to be abroad. The wind 
moaned in the chimney like some forlorn human voice. 

“ How delightfully cool your hands are ! ” he said, passing 
them over his throbbing temples. “ Think how lonely I 
should be without you, Daisy, when my girls flit from the 
home nest ! I believe I shall keep you always.” 

And she had been planning how to get away ! She 
crushed down the great rising in her heart ; she tried to 
steady the trembling fingers that were drawn down to his 
mouth to be kissed, and then half buried in his soft beard, 
before they found their way back to his forehead. She 
compelled herself to listen to him — mechanically at first, 
but by degrees losing that numb, terrible feeling, llich- 
ard’s weariness led him into a sorrowful vein ; perhaps, too, 
the memory of an event always fresh in his mind at this 
season unconsciously saddened him. From his great grief 
they passed to hers. If Daisy’s voice trembled, if her 
speech grew slow and faltering, it roused no wonder in his 
heart. He lingered tenderly over those dark days ; indeed, 


224 


IN TRUST, OR 


all the days that had been precious to him from the time of 
their first meeting. She felt anew how he had shielded hei 
— how he would fain have warded ofiF every sorrow. Would 
there be any such merciful heart in the desert in which she 
longed to bury herself ? 

Something inexplicable fell over them both ; though, per- 
haps, neither dreamed to what boundless realm they were 
slowly drifting. When he spoke of the future, blending bet 
with every event, no fear or suspicion started in either 
mind. It was too early to experience any want beyond 
what their daily intercourse supplied. Now and then they 
fell into long, delicious silences, when he kissed into the 
soft hand a secret knowledge he had not owned to himself. 

Thinking this over in her own room, his tender good 
night lingering like a blessing about her, and the children’s 
kisses the guests of her pillow, the rebellious feeling of the 
morning died out. She no longer beat helplessly against 
the prison bars of fate, neither did she droop in utter 
despondency. Her cry still was, “ All Thy waves and Thj 
billows are gone over me.” She only realized that she 
could, after all, bear her trial here better than in any other 
place, without being able to explain what had wrought the 
change. She could not go away unless Richard consented. 
And in the dark day of her life in which he said “ yes,” 
there would remain but one place of refuge — the grave. 

And so she passed the fearful ordeal, making no sign. 
Influenced by some unseen, unexplainable strength, that 
crept through every pulse, and beat off the moments by 
heart throbs, she ceased to struggle at length, and took up 
her cross in silence. It was not Dr. Bertrand’s fault that 
in a fatal hour all disguise had slipped away. So she sat 
patiently down in its shadow, resolved to bide Grod’s own 
time. Her soul was weak, but the most heroic could have 
done no more. 


©B. beetband’s household. 


225 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

For love of Him who smote our lives, 

And woke the chords of joy and pain, 

We said, Sweet Christ! — our hearts bent down, 

Like violets after rain. 

T. B. Aldrich. 

Many a green isle there needs must be, 

In the deep, wide sea of misery; 

Else the mariner, worn and wan, 

Never thus could journey on. 

Shelley. 

Ir was not possible for so fragile a nature to pass through 
the fire unscathed. The holy children came forth with 
glorious bodies ; but we, of a later day, bear about with us 
the marks of the burning. Therefore the ensuing morning 
found Daisy feverish, and unable to rise. At first she could 
not remember how she came by the fierce pain surging 
wildly around her heart ; but presently she laid her head 
back on the pillow, and prayed fervently for endurance. 
There was much of life yet before her. She had a vague 
hope that some day the shadow would be lifted a little. 

Tessy summoned Richard with frantic haste. He looked 
gravely into the sunken eyes, and noted the marks of in- 
tense suffering in every feature. If he had not seen her 
the morning after the baby’s death, this change would have 
alarmed him. 

“My poor, dear child,” he began, tenderly, “ our conver- 
sation of last night was too much for you. I don’t know 
how I could have been so selfish and thoughtless. Youl 
system is completely prostrated.” 


226 


IN TRUST, OB 


“ No, it was not that,” she returned, with trembling eager- 
ness, pained to hear him blamed so unjustly. “ I was out 
yesterday, and must have taken cold.” 

“ Not in the storm, surely ! Where did you go ? ” 

“ Before the storm. It was very chilly. Do not feel 
alarmed ; I shall soon be well again ; ” and she partly turned 
her face to avoid his eyes. 

Her pulse was extremely feeble. Indeed, he felt rather at 
loss, unless he ascribed the symptoms to some strong mental 
agitation. He saw that being questioned gave her pain ; so 
he wisely forbore. 

“We must have Lily home,” he said. “ She ought to be 
a grand nurse by this time.” 

“ 0, no, please don’t send for her. I should be so sorry 
to spoil her visit ! ” and the languid eyes glanced up beseech- 

ingly- 

He thought a moment, and then gave up his point. “ You 
will have to take Tessy and me,” he resumed. 

She put her hand softly in his, as if henceforth he was to 
be her great rock in a weary land. Without him life would 
be a blank. 

He came up after breakfast, and remained an hour. Per- 
haps, as she said, rest and quiet were all she needed. He 
held the baby hand long enough to count every pulse to the 
very finger tips. Bending over her, he pressed a kiss to the 
pale lips — a kiss that thrilled his manhood’s blood, and left 
her trembling like an aspen. Familiar as their social rela- 
tions had been, anything beyond the usual good night was 
rare between them. The little, light frost of shyness sur- 
rounding her was too dainty and sacred a thing to break 
rudely. 

Tessy was delighted to stay at home and play nurse. It 
was a long, yet not tiresome day. By degrees the throb- 
bing pain in Daisy’s temples subsided, and the heartache 
became more endurable. She made an attempt to rise 
before dinner, but found herself too weak. So Tessy brought 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


227 


up some toast, and Richard devoted all his spare time 
to her. 

When the lights were out, and she was trying to go to 
sleep, she thought, again and again, how they all loved her ! 
With a child-like trust she committed her ways unto the 
Lord ; and though she might never wholly resign her bur- 
den, these dear ones should not see her faint under it. 

Several days elapsed before she was able to come down 
stairs ; but after that she gained rapidly. A letter from Lily 
brought about an event that quite restored her. Mrs. 
Suydam expected to bring her brother to the city some time 
during the following week, and had petitioned to take Lily 
also. The child’s heart was in both places. 

“ I don’t exactly approve of it. I shall have to look after 
my family a little more closely,” Richard said. 

“ Mabel speaks very highly of Mrs. Suydam,” was Daisy’s 
quiet rejoinder. 

“ The brother may make us the trouble ; ” and a smile 
lurked in the corners of his eyes. “ See what it is to have 
a beauty who continually runs into mischief ! ” 

“ Daisy and I mean to be the comfort of your old age,” 
Tessy said, with an assurance that sat oddly enough upon 
her. 

“ Wait until a handsome young man rescues you from 
drowning, or breaks his limbs in order to subdue your cruel 
heart. UpjDn the whole, I think we must see this hero. 
What do you say to a trip to Rothelan?” 

‘‘ You are not in earnest, Dick ? ” 

“ Sober earnest. Miss Tessy. Just now I have no serious 
eases on hand, and the weather promises to be beautiful. 
Besides, I think Daisy needs some country air to bring the 
roses to her cheeks.” 

“ I never saw Daisy have any roses,” the child replied, 
thoughtfully. 

“ We must find a way to make them blossom. What does 
Daisy say to the journey ? ” 


228 


IN TBU8T, OB 


“It would be delightful! You are so kind;"’ and she 
gave his hand a little mute caress. 

“ lie’s a magnificent fellow — dear old Dick ! He always 
thinks of the nicest things in the world ; ” and Tessy hugged 
him rapturously. 

“ Just one more mouthful of breath before my head comes 
off; ” and he struggled, laughingly, to release himself. 

“ We will go on Monday, and take everybody by surprise, 
and bring Lily home with us the last of the week. Will 
that do ? ” 

“ I think Lily will like it as well as any of us,” Daisy 
said, confidently. 

Tessy went waltzing round on the tips of her toes, and 
finally bestowed herself in Richard’s arms. 

Daisy had not read much of her letter to Richard, for she 
was a little doubtful about the rapid proficiency Lily was 
making in her art. “ You would smile to see me manage Mr. 
Auchester,” she wrote. “ I found out, a few days ago, that 
his imperial lordship had more than one weak point. At 
first I was very devoted. He could not even reach for a drink 
on account of his shoulder ; and as his nurse was fond of 
going to the kitchen for a good gossip with Mrs. Brown, 1 
was always at hand, and I almost believe he preferred me to 
the nurse. You remember the last storm ? There was enough 
snow and sleet here to make a little sleighing, and Mr. 
Joslyn came over for me. He is such a steady-going young 
man, and belongs to a good family, who are great favorites 
with Bel ; so she trusts me with him very willingly. The 
ride was tempting, and I had been rather distant of late ; so 
I thought I would console him a trifle with the light of my 
presence. But you should have seen Mr. Auchester’s face 
when I announced the fact ! He said, “ 0, please do not 
go ! ” in such a pretty, pleading tone, that my heart almost 
misgave me. I could not very well break my promise, and I 
thought maybe a little solitude would be good for Mr. Auches- 
ter. He coaxed a while, and then was rather sulky, I fancied, 


DR. BERTRaND’s household. 


229 


and had a hundred wants. I was all amiability, and Tveut 
off at last with a smiling face. Mr. Joslyn was disappointed 
shat I would not go to tea, and spend the evening with his 
mother ; but I had a frantic curiosity to know how Mr. 
Auchester endured my absence. We reached home just at 
dusk. I had taken off my wrappings, and was running into 
Bel’s room to tell her of my nice ride, when nurse met me, 
and said, ‘ Please, Miss Bertrand, won’t you go sit with Mr. 
Auchester while I make his toast and tea ? He has asked 
for you fifty times in the last half hour.’ 

“ I went to his room radiant, and found him decidedly 
waspish. He sneered a little at the ride — a sort of elegant 
bitterness, that he makes an admirable weapon of ; and then 
at Mr. Joslyn, who does sometimes treat Bindley Murray 
rather disrespectfully. So I began to defend Mr. Joslyn, 
and as nurse lingered, we had a spicy tete~d^tete. It was 
such fun to see his eyes flash, and rouse him out of his cus- 
tomary easy nonchalance ! 

“ After supper he sent for me to read to him. Philip had 
gone out. The two men admire each other extremely, and 
Philip spends much of his time in Mr. Auchester’s room. I 
read a little while ; but he was cross as a bear, found fault 
with my emphasis, my rhythm, and finally told me to put up 
the book. I was a little vexed at first ; but when I found 
how everything annoyed him, I determined to have my own 
amusement. He wanted his pillows changed; he wanted 
the lamp placed so it wouldn’t shine in his eyes ; he wanted 
a drink, and twenty other things, that kept me on the stir 
continually ; and then he had the audacity to request me to 
move quietly, as his nerves were not in quite so robust a 
state as Mr. Joslyn’s ! He said ‘good night’ in a sort of 
mart}!' fashion when I went away, and the next morning 
asked me — would you believe it? — if I was not sorry for 
neglecting him so yesterday ! Since then we have had 
rather spicy times, and when he is very naughty I play off 
Mr. Joslyn against him. 

20 


230 


IN TRUST, OR 


“He has improved rapidly of late, and Mis. Suydan ex- 
pects to take him home next week. I think her a most 
charming woman. But, Daisy, she wishes me to accompany 
them, and I never was so puzzled in my life. I \^ant to go, 
and yet I don’t want to. Mabel has written to Richard, but 
I expect to feel disappointed whichever way ho decides. 
Was there ever such an odd girl?” 

They were all ready for their journey on Monday morn 
ing. Archie bade them good by with a rueful face, and de- 
clared he did not know how he could exist in their absence. 
The day was lovely, and Tessy merry as a bird. She eren 
infected Richard with her joyous spirits. Daisy was imei 
and pale, but much interested in the ride. The Hudson 
looked beautiful in the bright spring sunshine ; its banks 
dotted here and there with patches of pale green, suggest- 
ing verdure ; and then rising in high, frowning cliffs, broken 
at intervals by mysterious nooks. The girls looked steadily 
nut of the window, and talked Irving until the conductor 
sang out — Rothelan. 

As they supposed, they took the whole family greatly by 
surprise, but were none the less welcome. Daisy found 
herself quite an object of interest with her pale face. Lily 
hovered about her with fond caresses, while Tessy was soon 
won over to Mr. Chaloner’s side. Neither Bel nor Lily had 
overdrawn the delights of the place. 

Mr. Auchester did not make his appearance until dinner. 
He was unusually handsome, though still pale, and he carried 
his arm in a sling. There was nothing in him for Richard 
to distrust. His face was manly and honorable in the high- 
est degree, a little imperious, perhaps, but it sat well upon 
him. A man so self-poised, and used to perfect control, 
would not be easily mastered by any feeling or passion un- 
less strictly genuine. 

He was rather quiet at first. Lily bantered him a little 
on being disappointed. Mr. Suydam’s gardener had prom- 
ised to send him some birds, but had brought chickens 


Dft. BERTRAND'S HOUSEHOLD. 


231 


“ Well,” said Tessy, “you’ll have to comfort yourself aa 
the old lady I once read of did, when she boiled the hedge 
stake on which the crow had been sitting, by saying, ‘ It 
tastes 0^ game, though.’ ” 

“ Extremely philosophical,” laughed Mr. Auchester, “ and 
worth remembering, when I am reduced to greater straits 
than this. Do you think, with your sister, that I look disap- 
pointed ? ” 

“ Not so dreadfully,” returned Tessy, slowly. 

Mr. Auchester began to relate to her how he had been 
treated during his illness. They had put three grains of tea 
in two quarts of water, for fear of rendering him nervous 
and unmanageable, and when the nurse made his first soup, 
she hung a chicken’s wing in the sunshine and boiled the 
shadow. And he had never been able to coax Lily to bring 
him up any nice little dish without nurse’s knowledge. Tessy 
commiserated him greatly. There was much drollery in her 
nature. When they adjourned to the parlor, she and Mr. 
Auchester were fast friends. 

As the afternoon was lovely, he sent over for Mr. Suy- 
dam’s family carriage, and they all went out to ride. Daisy 
and he were placed on the back seat, well wrapped up, ‘ to 
keep the winds of heaven from visiting them too roughly,’ 
Lily said. She, Tessy, and Richard faced them, Philip driv- 
ing, and Mabel beside him. 

Mr. Auchester made himself very agreeable, talking mostly 
to Daisy. In the evening he persuaded her to share the 
sofa with him, while the others were engrossed with music. 
She remembered afterwards that their conversation was prin- 
cipally about Lily. The next day was still more charming, 
as there was less restraint. Daisy’s eyes and cheeks bright- 
ened with pleasurable excitement. A heart less true and 
honorable than Mabel’s might have experienced a jealous 
pang at finding herself superseded in the old household 
place ; but she loved Daisy too dearly for such a feeling. 

“ I wonder if I am selfish about you,'" she said to Richard. 


232 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ So many evenings I have thought of you coming hom« 
weary in body and mind, and being comforted by J daisy’s 
low, sweet voice, and cheered by the dear face so full of 
"eady sympathy. I should not have dared to keep Lily so 
'ong, only I knew you had better care than she would bestow. 
I am so glad Robert gave her to us.” 

Richard remembered one night, that stood out like a 
star among other pleasant ones, and said, in a fervent 
tone, — 

“ She will be a treasure to us all ; I am more than thank- 
ful to have her.” 

Mr. Auchester seemed weary, and retired quite early in 
the evening ; Mabel was called away by a visitor, and the 
gentlemen went to the study for a comfortable smoke. Lily 
carried Daisy off to her room, and bestowing her on a corner 
of the lounge, said, — 

“ Now for a nice long talk. I have hardly seen you yet.” 

“Well,” Daisy exclaimed, after a silence, “do you want 
me to begin the conversation by asking what you said to Mr. 
Auchester immediately after supper. It changed his mood, 
visibly.” 

“ Did you think so ? It was about not going home with 
his sister. I am so glad you all came up, and that Richard 
wants to take me back with him. I would like very much to 
go to Mrs. Suydam’s ; but I am sure it was his proposal. He 
rules her completely. I want him to see that he is not mas- 
ter of every one. How do you like him ? ” 

“ O, very, very much. Are you doing just right, Lily ? 
for I think he admires you greatly, and if you can pain him 
so easily — ” 

“After he tells me what he means, I shall know;” and 
Lily laughed. 

“ Yet you like him ? ” 

“ Yes ; that is just the word to use after a five weeks’ ac- 
quaintance. Rut this may be with him ‘ pastime ’ere he 
goes to town ; ’ and you see I can match him.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household 


233 


“ I do not believe it,” Daisy said, with i little crimson 
flush of indignation. “ Or do you prefer Mr. Joslyii ?” 

“ He isn’t to be mentioned in the same week, although a 
good deal richer. I had to have some amusement, you know. 
When I first came up, he was the most eligible, and lately it 
has been such fun to play them off against each other ! ” 

“ But, Lily, do you think it right ? Is there no danger to 
any one ? ” 

“ 0, you grave little kitten ! If I can take care of my • 
self, he surely ought to be endowed with as much wisdom ; ” 
and Lily shook back her curls with a brilliant, scornful smile. 
“ After all, it is only child’s play. I dare say Mr. Auchester 
will forget me in a fortnight.” 

Daisy started at the change in the bright face. Was Lily 
as indifferent as she pretended ? Twining her arm around 
the beautiftl girl, she drew from her many trifling incidents 
that she would never have dreamed of telling Mabel. And 
as Daisy recalled Mr. Auchester’s frank, honorable face, she 
felt it could not be all trifling on his part. 

“ And now I want to hear about yourself,” Lily said. 
“ Have you had a pleasant winter ; and what made you ill ? 
Didn’t you want me just a little ? ” 

An irrepressible shiver ran over Daisy ; but quickly re- 
covering herself, she answered, — 

“Dr. Bertrand wanted to send for you; but he and Tessy 
were delightful nurses, and I thought Mabel needed you.’’ 

“ Mr. Auchester, you mean. I did half propose going 
home one day, when he was rather lordly. You should have 
seen how it brought him down from his sublime height. 0, 
it was grand. There comes Bel. Not a word of this to her, 
OT you will frighten her out of her senses.” 

At Mabel’s entrance the conversation became general. But 
as Daisy laid her head on the pillow that night, she smiled 
and sighed ; smiled over the tact and ready wit Lily dis- 
played in managing her admirers, and sighed to think whal 
might be her fate. Dear, bright, beautiful Lily ! 

20 * 


234 


IN TRUST, OR 


On Wednesday, Mr. and Mrs. Suydam came up. The 
lady was certainly :iot handsome, but taste and education 
rendered her charr.iing. Easy and affable, without the 
slightest condesceu'^^ion, and really grateful to all who had 
befriended her brother. He was her junior by three years, 
the only companion of her childhood, and very dear to her. 
As Lily had said, his word was her law. 

At first she wa^s deeply disappointed at not being able to 
take Lily with her, but on second thought declared herself 
quite reconciled. 

“We are going to give Ulric a party as soon as we can 
decide on the time,” she said ; “ and I’ll take my week then, 
Miss Lilian. So remember, you are to be in readiness.” 

Mr Suydam had brought up an elegant set of books for 
Philip, and a handsomely bound collection of choice music 
for Mabel. They seemed to consider themselves largely in 
debt to all at the rectory. 

“ Indeed,” Mrs. Suydam said, naively, “ Ulric is enjoying 
himself so well, it is a pity to take him home. I’m sure no 
one ever had a pleasanter convalescence.” 

Lily granted him the favor of a walk after dinner, and 
Daisy was pleased to see him return in such good spirits. 
Mrs. Suy dam’s admiration was more outspoken, but his as 
evident. 

To their departure succeeded a long, quiet evening — a 
regular family party, as Mabel termed it. Daisy and she 
harmonized as completely now as during the first month of 
their acquaintance ; perhaps, indeed, there were more points 
of sympathy. She tried to persuade her to remain ; but 
although they held a long' conference on the subject, it was 
summarily vetoed by Tessy’s appealing to Richard, w^ho said, 
gravely, “ Why, if Daisy desired it very much — ” but the 
tone and’ the pause at the end of the sentence was all-potent. 

“ I have the promise of a whole month next summer,” 
Mabel returned, confidently. “ You must learn to do with- 
out her by that time.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


235 


The week was all too short, though they did manage to 
go to supper at Mrs. Joslyn’s. There were three agreeable 
young ladies, who appeared to think it their bounden duty 
to admire Lily ; but the brother was nervous and awkward, 
appearing to quite a disadvantage in his desire to honor 
every one, with Lily’s eyes upon him. 

The journey, the excitement, and perhaps Lily’s exuber- 
ant spirits, worked a maivellous change in Daisy. The 
sweet, bland airs of spring, and out-of-door occupation, 
helping Martin tie up roses and make the garden, brought 
a soft bloom to her face. Now and then a musical ripple 
floated in with Lily’s clear .laugh, rendering the atmosphere 
of Dr. Bertrand’s house joyous and soul-reviving. 

Mrs. Suydam sent Lily the promised invitation, adding, 
“ that she and her brother would drive over for her, and 
that she must come prepared for the desired visit. Ulric 
was almost well, and anticipated a great deal of pleasure. 
He begged the privilege of sending his regards.” 

“ 0 dear ! ” said Lily, disconsolately ; “ all the people will 
look so elegant that I shall be completely thrown in the 
shade.” 

“ Not with such a face.” 

“ Because I look well in white muslin and blue ribbons, I 
suppose I must wear them all my days, comforting myself 
with ‘beauty unadorned,’ ‘gilding gold, and painting the 
lily:- 

Daisy laughed. 

“ You do need a pretty evening dress, and a new silk,” 
she said. 

“ Exactly, my dear. Yet I am afraid Richard would think 
me dreadfully extravagant if I asked him for a hundred dol- 
lars. Mabel was such an inexpensive treasure that my own 
desires shock me by contrast. I’ll see how much courage 
I can summon up between this and bedtime.” 

Daisy smiled quietly to herself, 


236 


IK TRUST. OR 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

Airy, fairy Lilian, 

Flitting', fairy Lilian, 

When I ask her if she love me. 

Clasps her tiny hands above me, 

Laughing all she can ; 

She’ll not tell me if she love me. 

Cruel little Lilian. 

Tennyson. 

Coming in quite early, Eichard was waylaid in the hall,; 
but it was not the rapturous embrace of either Lilian o'/ 
Tessy. The clasp of these little hands was shy and timid, 
the face flushed and entreating, and the rosy lips said, 
softly, — 

“ 0 doctor ! I want to see you a moment, before any one 
else. I have a favor to ask.*’ 

“ Professional, of course ; ” and there was a gay light in 
his eyes as his strong arm almost lifted instead of leading 
her to the library. 

“ No ; ” and the sudden rift of color reminded one of the 
break in an April sky after a shower. 

“ Then I will take the liberty of observing that it is not 
absolutel}" necessary to always give me my title in address* 
ing me,” he returned, gravely. “ What if you vary the 
exercises once in a while by saying Eichard ? I don’t sup- 
pose you will ever feel well enough acquainted to use Lily’s 
‘ dear old Dick ! ’ ” 

The long lashes drooped over the downcast eyes, and the 
crimson became painfully deep. In that moment of silence, 
both remembered the only time she had ever said Eichard, 


DB. Bertrand’s household. 


23 ? 


and that was not to him. He drew the fair head down on 
his breast, and said, with deep tenderness, — 

“ Child, what is it ? ” 

“Nothing for myself.” 

“If Archie doesn’t stop sending you of his errands- — ” 

“He did not send me, nor any one. I wanted to ask it 
for Lily, she is so kind and sweet to me. Do you not 
think — ” and she paused in her embarrassment. 

“ I think you are too much afraid of me, Daisy. Am I 
not your brother — your dearest friend ? ” 

“It was this,” — she spoke low and hurriedly; — “Lily 
ought to have something new and pretty to wear at Mrs. 
Suydam’s. She is fearful you will consider her extravagant 
if she asks for it.” 

He laughed pleasantly as he replied, — 

“So, that is all. Well, if people will admire our family 
beauty, we must make her elegant accordingly. Will a 
hundred dollars do ? I don’t know how much party dresses 
cost.” 

“ Just what she was wishing for ; and she can buy two 
dresses with it. You are so good ! ” 

“ Do you feel generous enough to repay me for my ready 
compliance } ” 

She said, “ Richard,” in a little underbreath, as if a sum- 
mer zephyr had wafted the fragrance of a jasmine to him. 
The shyest grace fluttered like a rosy veil over her coun- 
tenance. He could not resist giving her one of those rare, 
tender kisses. 

“ Little bird ! ” he continued presently. “ Suppose we go 
iown to New York, and find some pretty gift for Lily — a 
?et of jewelry, for instance ? Wouldn^t you like to bestow 
this upon her ? ” 

“ It would be delightful ! — only I should tell her it was 
not my gift.” Daisy had long ago insisted upon Richard’s 
taking back the money Mrs. Davis had given her. Since 
she had learned her true situation, she was thankful foi 


238 


IN TRUST, OR 


having done this, though he kept her libeially supplied with 
funds. 

“ Well, you shall choose it, then. Can you get ready in 
ten minutes ? We might catch the next train.’* 

“ But the dinner ? ” 

“ Lily will attend to that. As for us, there’s a Mr. Tay- 
lor in New York, an exceedingly obliging man, who will 
serve you up a dinner at a moment’s notice. See if you can 
dress yourself while I am brushing my hair. Not a word to 
Lily.” 

She ran off eagerly, her face one lovely glow. No inter- 
ruption came as the deft fingers flew hither and thither like 
the quick wings of a bird. Her black dress, with its tiny 
neck and wrist ruffles of soft cambric, was always in order. 
Fastening her cloak and tying her bonnet, she stepped into 
the hall just as Bichard emerged from his room. 

He took a delighted survey of the sweet, rosy face, and 
said, smilingly, — 

“ You are a perfect fairy. I am glad the race is not quite 
extinct. Shall we find a coach and six out of doors ? and 
must I bring you home before midnight ? ” 

“ Don’t praise me too soon. I have not my gloves on ; ” 
and she held up her hands. 

He slipped one through his arm, adding, “ You can finish 
in the cars.” Then he called, over the baluster, “ Mrs. 
Hall ! ” 

“Well,” was the reply. 

. “Mrs. Bertrand and I are going out, and shall not return 
until evening. Do not keep dinner waiting for us.” 

“ 0 Eichard ! ” a voice cried just as he shut the door. 
When Lily looked out, they were turning the corner. Mrs. 
Hall could throw no light whatever on the subject. 

The day was balmy and spring-like, the air fragrant with 
newly-awakened odors. Eichard declared he felt unusually 
gay for an old man with grown-up daughters. Daisy was 
radiant and smiling. They soon whirled down to the city, 
and a convenient stage took them to Ball & Black’s. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


239 


Richard seated Daisy, declaring she had an arduous task 
before her. The clerk began to spread out jewels. Cameos, 
mosaic, pearls, rubies, emeralds, and all manner of lovely, 
sparkling things that quite dazzled her. She looked them 
c ver with a child’s eager delight, they were so beautiful. 

“ I think,” she said, after a long pujse, “ there are only 
iwo things I should choose for Lily — turquoise or pearls.” 

“And which of those? See if yuur taste agrees with 
mine.” 

She studied them attentively, answering, — 

“ I believe I prefer the pearls.” 

“ I am quite sure I do. Lily is so fair ! How do you 
like this brooch with an opal in the centre?” 

“ It is exquisite. The changeful hues of the opal light it 
up like a sunrise. How Lily will admire it ! ” 

Then they examined some bracelets. Tasteful and ele- 
gant, yet not too expensive looking for plain wear. 

“We shall not find anything prettier. While the clerk is 
putting them up we will take a look the pictures and 
bronzes on the next floor ; ” and giving his order, he led her 
up stairs. 

“ What lovely, lovely articles ! ” she said, pausing in won- 
dering pleasure. 

“It almost makes one long to be rich, doesn’t it, when 
such elegant gold and silver services stare you in the face ? 
And to have your house filled with arch Hebe, Ceres laden 
with ripe burdens, Pomona bearing her luscious fruits, and 
this sad-eyed Clytie, who drooped and pined in her unfor- 
tunate love, until her heart’s sweetness became the helio- 
itope ! ” 

“ They are beautiful and — cold,” Daisy said, slowly. 
“I like tender human faces and bright flowers in the place 
we call home. I am not quite out of conceit with our pov- 
erty ; ” and she smiled archly. 

He gave the little hand a fond pressure. They were a 
long while examining the choice treasures that spoke of 


240 


IN THITST, OB 


nearly every quarter of the globe ; then Richard proposed 
they should go for their dinner, concluding with, — 

“ Afterwards we will take a tour through the Dusseldorf 
Gallery. Some of the pictures are exceedingly fine by gas- 
light.” 

Daisy thanked him with a smile. He was in a warm, 
genial mood, and rendered everything delightful to her. 
Many a week could not boast of the enjoyment crowded into 
those few holiday hours. 

Again in the cars, she was silent, not so much from 
fatigue as thought. Richard watched the rosy face and 
lovely, drooping eyes, and never guessed what was passing 
in her heart. She shivered a little at the remembrance of 
her cold, bitter, terrible March journey. Why was it the 
fatal secret had not darkened her whole life ? From whence 
came the light, the warmth, the sunshine ? Ah, it was love, 
both human and divine, that made all so radiant ; and thus 
the most sorrowful of dead hopes blossomed anew by faith 
in God. It may be it will stand confessed at the last that 
some of our sorest trials became the off-shoots on which 
grew steadfast purposes and more noble resolves. 

Lily was at the piano when they entered the house. 
Richard amused himself a while with her impatient curiosity, 
and then handed her the little parcel. Opening it, she 
found not only the jewels, but two fifty-dollar gold pieces. 

“ Dick, you are too good for anything ! ” she cried, clasp- 
ing her arms around him. “ What little bird told you I 
wanted a set of pearls and some money to spend ? This 
was why you whisked Daisy off so unceremoniously.” 

Daisy disclaimed all honor of the proceeding, but Richard 
insisted he couldn’t have thought of it alone. Lily tried on 
lier jewels in wildest delight. Their delicate loveliness 
harmonized admirably with her pure blonde beauty, and, if 
less showy than colors, suited her better. 

“ I have a word more to add,” said Richard “ Don’t 
buy dresses too fine for my pearls.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


241 


“ I’ll take Daisy with me to help select them ; so, if you 
see us flying olf without a word of explanation, you will 
know the cause ; ” and she laughed saucily. 

It was growing late ; so they soon separated. An un- 
spoken wish lingered in the deep eyes resting on Daisy’s 
face. 

“ Good night, Eichard,” she said, softly, with her last kiss, 
while a fitful color stole into her cheeks. 

Mrs. Suydam and Mr. Auchester drove over according to 
promise. The gentleman laughingly declared himself as 
good as new, and ready for another adventure. He was 
polished, and displayed the ease and grace refined society 
and careful culture invariably give. Lily was a little shy, 
but exquisitely charming. After Richard came in, she and 
Mrs. Suydam went to inspect the dresses. 

The new ones had been a blue silk, chosen, she blushingly 
admitted to Daisy, because Mr. Auchester thought it her most 
appropriate color, and a white tissue dotted with miniature 
bouquets in rich, delicate shades. The pearls elicited Mrs. 
Suydam’s warmest admiration. Dark, and rather brilliant 
looking, she shared, in common with many brunettes, a pas- 
sion for blonde beauty. 

Daisy superintended the preparations for lunch. She 
gave a little odd smile over the simple white china as she 
thought of the elegant services she had examined with Rich- 
ard ; yet the table looked very pretty when she arranged 
some scarlet geraniums in low vases. Was Mrs. Suydam, 
living in luxury, any happier than they ? A quick heart- 
beat answered her. 

Lily said her adieus with all the fondness of a warm, un- 
restrained heart. Her fresh, frank nature won upon Mr. 
Auchester. He had quick eyes to detect calculated move- 
ments, and his penetration would soon have solved the 
depths of insincerity. She did not know how great an in- 
terest he had in watching her just now. 

Archie threw up his cap, and said they could take a world 
21 


242 


IN TRUST, OR 


of comfort with Daisy, now that Lily was out of the way 
He told Tessy privately he shouldn’t at all care if Mr. An 
Chester married Lily, for they could do very well without her. 

The week resolved itself into ten days, before Mr. Auches- 
ter brought her back. One could readily gather from hei 
face that her visit had been highly satisfactory. He re. 
mained to spend the evening, and had a long talk with Rich- 
ard, while they smoked their cigars on the lawn. Tessj 
kept wide awake, to hear about the “party” afterwards. 

“ 0, it was delightful ! ” Lily exclaimed, as she sat down 
on the edge of the bed to brush out her shining hair. 
“ Mrs. Suydam lives in such elegant style ; and they are all 
charming people. She treated me as if I had been her 
sister. But everybody is crazy about Mr. Auchester. I 
didn’t expect to find him quite such a hero. People come to 
see him, and give dinner parties in his honor. His publish- 
ers like his book immensely. It is ‘ Travels and Discov- 
eries ; ’ for a year he was with an English seiontific party. 
Some of the proof sheets were sent home while I was there, 
and we read them together. He is remarkably entertaining, 
for he writes just as he talks, and some of his descriptions 
are wondrously beautiful.” 

“ But the party ! ” suggested Tessy. 

“ 0,yes. Well, the apartments were a blaze of light and 
beauty — isn’t that orthodox? There was a room for card 
playing, and all those games ; a picture gallery, devoted 
to conversation and the like ; a dancing-room, with most 
delicious music. Those waltzes of Strauss are perfectly en- 
chanting. But the supper-room was magnificent. Such an 
abuE dance of lovely cut and tinted glass, and an elegant 
silver service, that was presented to Mr. Suydam by some 
Company, to say nothmg of flowers in wildest profusion. 
Everything glittered and sparkled in the brilliant light ; the 
mnes, fruits, and jellies looked beautiful beyond description. 
I suppose the guests enjoyed themselves immensely; I am 
sore I did.” 


DB. BEKTRAND’s household. 


243 


“ What did you do ? ” the child asked. 

“ Danced, mostly, and when I was tired, sat still and 
watched the crowds of elegant people. There were many 
very richly dressed, but I felt as nice in my tissue and pearls 
as the best of them. Mr. Auchester made me a lovely 
bouquet, and put some flowers in my hair. He is passion- 
ately fond of flowers. It was like a glimpse of Fairy-land. 
I was full of enjoyment to the very brim. And Mrs. Suydam 
^as taken me twice to the opera ; and I went to one grand 
dinner, where numbers of the ‘ literati ’ were present ; be- 
sides rides and calls, and most delightful times at home. 
Mr. Suydam is a very pleasant host. And now you must go 
to sleep, Tessy, for it’s growing late.” 

She had a long, confidential talk with Daisy the next day, 
as they sat at their sewing. Daisy expressed a desire to 
know if Mr. Auchester improved on further acquaintance. 

“ I hardly know what to say about him ; ” and a thoughtful 
expression crossed Lily’s face, as she went on, musingly : 
“ he is splendid ; he pleases, frets, amuses, and almost fas- 
cinates me. There is such a sense of power running 
through his low, rich, flexible voice, that it unconsciously 
controls every one. Mrs. Suydam takes his word for law ; 
the children obey him immediately, and even his friends 
yield to his curious sway. I’m not sure that I like to be 
ruled in that imperial fashion ! I was so vexed one morn- 
ing ! I was in the library, reading proofs to him, when 
Mrs. Suydam entered, and asked me to accompany her and 
the children on a drive. He merely raised his head, and 
said, in a cool, authoritative manner, ‘ She is reading to me.’ 
Mrs. Suydam laughingly nodded her head and disappeared, 
and I read on. He is so quick and calm about a thing ! He 
decides for you without giving you time to consider, and 
there is no going back with him. If you undertake to argue 
a point where he means you shall yield, he is attentive, 
patient, polite, but — immovable. Don’t look so suspicious, 
Daisy ; I was real good. Being in his sister’s house, where 


244 


TN TRUST, on 


every one set me a good example, I was as meek as yoa 
please. ]3ut I did want to torment him that night of the 
party. In the first waltz I had him for a partner ; he' had 
asked for it in the morning. I enjoyed it wonderfully 
Then he brought some cream, and we went into a cosy little 
corner to eat it ; and he asked me, as a special favor, not to 
waltz with any other gentleman that evening. I very fool- 
ishly promised. Some time afterwards — I had been dancing 
quadrilles with Mr. SuydanTs nephew — the band commenced 
a most inspiriting waltz ; but of course I refused my partner. 
Whom should I see come floating down the room but Mr. 
Auchester and a beautiful woman — some gentleman’s daugh- 
ter he had met abroad. My first impulse was to spring up ; 
indeed, I hardly know what restrained me. It would have 
delighted me to see him flush and frown, and set his lips 
together in that rigid, self-commanding way. He has no 
superabundance of patience, I can assure you. I asked him 
next day why he made such a request, and he answered, in 
an imperious manner, ‘ Child, I have peculiar fancies con- 
cerning some women’s waltzing ; ’ and, I confess, I really did 
not dare to question him further.” 

“ 0 Lily ! don’t talk so, please. It is not right to make 
him angry.” 

“My dear, he doesn’t get angry now. He used to, at 
Roth e? an. In these later times, he merely shows what he 
miylit do if he chose. And I believe it is natural for me to 
resent authority. The instant any one sets up a law, I ex- 
perience a strong desire to test my strength against it. Yet 
I had a most satisfactory visit, and I really do love Mrs 
Suydam.” 

Mr. Auchester made himself no stranger at the Bertrands. 
When he learned how fond Daisy was of gardening, he 
brought her many choice flowers, and interested her greatly 
in his descriptions of tropic vegetation, ana tue vvonaerrul 
gardens of the old world. A fine, electric sympathy sprang 
up between them ; they seemed to gain an intuitive knowledgo 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


245 


af each other’s tastes and feelings. Nor was Mrs. Suy- 
dam at all inclined to relinquish her share of Lily’s society. 
Besides admiring the beauty of the young girl, there was 
something so winsome and genial in her fresh, sunny moods, 
while her ready wit rarely wounded, and never exceeded the 
point of good taste. 

When the time for her annual migration arrived, Mrs. 
Suydam entreated Bichard tc allow her to take Lily to 
Rothelan, but it was Mr. Auchester who supplied the argu- 
ment that proved effectual. 

“ I don’t feel at all satisfied about it,” Bichard said to 
Daisy, as they walked up and down the garden, after the 
house had settled into quiet. 

“ Why ? I think Mr. Auchester likes Lily.” 

“ He thinks he loves her ; ” and Bichard gave a perplexed 
smile. 

Daisy started in pleasurable surprise. 0, I am so glad ! 
But it is quite sudden.” 

“ He announced his intentions immediately after the party, 
and asked my sanction. I stipulated that he should say 
nothing to Lily for at least three months ; but I believe his 
patience is quite exhausted. The last day he was here he 
begged me to consent to an engagement.” 

“ Did you ? ” 

“ Very reluctantly. I told him what I considered the 
truth — that Lily was a mere child, and likely to he dazzled 
by the excitement. It is a bitter thing to make idols and 
find them clay.” 

“ You do not like him, and I do, so very much ! ’' Daisy’s 
fine perception had divined this before. 

“ I admire him greatly. He has many estimable qualities, 
and is a man of the highest honor and delicacy ; yet I can- 
not take him cordially to my heart, as I did Philip. I have 
some painful misgivings about the matter.” 

“ In what respect ? ” 

Lily is fond of the widest freedom, quite consdoue of 
21 ^ 


246 


IN TRUST, OB 


her power, impatient of control, and sometimes rather um 
reasonable. Mr. Auchester is keenly alive to anything that 
trenches on his authority. He is exacting, rigid, and mas- 
terful ; and though royally generous to those who trust him 
and yield, I can fancy his being very bitter when opposed.” 

“ I hardly think you do him justice. Besides, he loves 

Lily." 

“ Rather, is fascinated with her. He likes her ':eauty 5 and 
her free, daring nature ; but he means to tame her. Just 
now he is indulgent ; he wants to accustom her to his guid- 
ance by degrees. When he gains a right to dictate, Lily 
may dispute his power. ‘ How can two walk together 
except they be agreed ? ’ ” 

“ 0, Lily would yield ; all women do when they love.” 

“ Do they ? ” He smiled curiously down into her face, 
which answered with a crimson flush. “ If Lily had fallen 
irrevocably in love, I should have more hopes of her. Per- 
haps she prefers Mr. Auchester to any gentleman she has 
ever met. Yet she may love her own will and passionate 
pride better. Some very worthy women wreck their happi- 
ness on this rock. Lily is naturally restless and defiant ; 
her course would be noisily persevering ; his, quietly, un- 
swervingly persistent. I’m afraid she will not readily under- 
stand the kind of man she has to deal with ; and rebellion, 
in such a case, would be misery.” 

“ I believe they will make charming lovers. I cannot 
allow you to pull down my ‘ chateau en Espag7ie’ ” 

“If they could always be lovers ! ” and Richard sighed a 
little. “ Neither has had the slightest discipline. Life has 
been so pleasant and easy with Mr. Auchester that I am 
afraid he has not acquired sufficient patience to control and 
govern such a nature as Lily’s.” 

“lam sorry you do not like him any better,” Daisy said, 
disappointedly. 

“ And yet I do enjoy his society. I think him a man of 
the highest truth and honor, and generous save in this one 


DK. BEKTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


247 


point — his authority. Doubtless the force and freshness 
of Lily’s temperament please him ; but she has a peculiar 
pertinacity, an ease and carelessness under rebuke until it 
becomes severe, simply because she means to have her own 
way in the end. Once married, with no avenue of escape, 
how would she endure a husband’s authority, that would be 
carried to its utmost limit if occasion required ? ” 

“ You make him out a tyrant,” Daisy said. 

“ No. In truth, I’m not sure but I would like to have my 
wife obey me — good as I am ; ” and Richard tried to laugh 
gayly, but it was only sad and retrospective. In his lost youth 
there flamed up the face of a woman who would give up any- 
thing save her own will. And Lily was not altogether un- 
like Robert. Love had failed to govern him. After a long 
pause, he added, “ Our only hope is, that all differences may 
be adjusted while they are lovers, or else that they may find 
they are really unsuited to each other.” 

Daisy resolutely held to her pleasant faith. True, Lily 
gave it some rude shocks when sb^ mentioned such episodes 
as her going to tea at Mrs. Joslyn’s, and how Mr. Joslyn had 
attended her home, to the discomfiture of Mr. Auches- 
ter, who, on calling at the rectory, and finding her out, had 
come for her, missing them both. “ And I kept Mr. Joslyn 
real late,” she added ; “ it was such fun to see Mr. Auchester’s 
eyes sparkle, and have him pace up and down the room like 
a fretted lion. He tried to scold a little, afterwards ; but I 
acted so unconscious of having committed any offence, that 
he was forced to yield his point. So, you see, at the rectory 
I pay him for being on my good behavior at Mrs. Suydam’r, 
which makes it about even.” 

Daisy withheld these confessions from Richard, and con- 
sidered Mr. Auchester the most indulgent of lovers. With 
his declaration, Mr. Auchester had also frankly informed 
Lily of all that had passed between him and her brother. 
Her quick eye detected the advantage. It was something 
to govern such a man — to tease and perplex ; and so Lily 


248 


IN TRUST, OR 


hesitated a little on the bewitching boundary line. Powei 
and liberty were sweet things to her. She lured him on, 
now by love, now by a little show of fond submission, and 
presently an almost childish rush into gayeties that he could 
chide, conquer, and forgive. It was his first passion ; and 
however cool and self-reliant he might be about other mat- 
ters, the newness of this, and its absorbing power, engrossed 
liim entirely. 


DB. BERTBAJ^d’s household. 


M9 


CHAPTEE XXYI. 

But springtide blossoms on thy lips, 

And tears take sunshine from thine eyes, 

COLEBIDOB. 

That care and trial seem at last, 

Through memory’s sunset air, 

Like mountain ranges overpast. 

In purple distance fair. 

J. G. Whittier. 

Daisy and Lily had changed places. It was Daisy who 
wrote from Eothelan, and this was part of her epistle : — 

“ Mabel has the sweetest little darling of a girl you ever 
saw, with dark violet eyes, just like yours. I wanted to write 
immediately, but I knew Eichard would tell you, and now 
baby is five days old. She is very good, scarcely cries at 
all, and Mabel is doing splendidly. Mrs. Suydam went to 
New York yesterday, and bought a lovely christening robe, 
a perfect mass of needlework and Valenciennes lace. She is 
to be one godmother, and baby is to be named Alice for her, 
and Teresa in remembrance of your dead mother and dear 
little Tessy. 

“ Mr. Auchester accompanied Mrs. Suydam over this 
morning. I brought out baby, and she opened her eyes so 
prettily it quite amused him. He said he had thought of 
buying her a silver cup, but he believed he should have to 
get a pony instead. Lily, dear, I like him so very, very 
much ! He will tell you Mrs. Suydam has changed her plans. 
On account of going West in the fall, with Mr. Suydam, she 
has given up Saratoga. So she and Mr. Auchester have 
planned a pleasant trip to the Catskills, as soon as Mabel is 


250 


IN TRUST, OR 


sufficiently recovered to travel. It is to be a real gay family 
party. 

“ Tell Iti chard that I am happier than I e\er hoped to be. 
Baby Alice has come to cheer me in this saddest of all sea- 
sons. God has been very good to me.” 

Bichard gathered from the^e words Daisy’s earnest en- 
deavor to overlive the memory of the past summer. He did 
not dream of the greater stroke that had tempered hei 
anguish, and would forever keep her from wishing back her 
lost darling. It was “ well ” with the child, and “ well” also 
with her, rejoicing in another’s new-born hope 

How thoughtful and tireless she was ! The cool touch of 
her fingers, the low, sweet sound of her voice, and her ten- 
der smile were invaluable in a sick room. Withal, she 
found time to see that Philip was not neglected, keeping 
everything in Mabel’s fashion, from the box of cravats to the 
arrangement of the study table, where fresh flowers greeted 
him every morning. 

On the anniversary of her baby’s death a letter came from 
Richard, containing some flowers gathered from the little 
grave. She wondered how he could know her heart so well. 
Was it strange she should live over again that fearful night? 
How could she have borne it but for him ! Not even broth- 
erly necessity had compelled him to be so kind. All had 
been given from the fulness of his own grand, generous 
heart. It was pleasant to owe so much to his abundant ten- 
derness. 

Mabel and baby Alice throve finely. The day for the 
christening was appointed, and IMr. Auchester brought up 
Lily and the two younger ones. Tessy was wild over the 
baby, and begged Daisy not to grow jealous. 

“For, after all,” she said, in her odd, womanly fashion, 
“ I love you with a grown-up love, which is much stronger* 
Only, Alice is so sweet, and can endure so much kissing, . 
that it’s a great comfort to have her in the family.” 

Mabel was taken to church for the christening. Richard, 


BB. BEBTBANd’s household. 


251 


Daisy, and Mrs. Suydam stood for the little one. It was a 
solemn and comforting service to the scarcely more than 
child, whose heart went back to her own baby’s baptism. 
He had “ passed the waves of this troublesome world, and 
entered the land of everlasting life.” Kneeling at the fDnt, 
she prayed that she might be enabled to do her duty, not 
only to this child, but to all those loved ones whom God had 
given her. She had ceased to ask why such heavy trials 
had fallen to her lot; content, and trust in a merciful Father, 
were all she desired. 

Mrs. Suydam and her three children and Mr. Auchester 
remained to dinner at the rectory. The little ones had a 
merry time on the lawn with Tessy, afterwards. Lily and 
her lover strolled away, and Eichard, drawing Daisy’s arm 
through his, led her down the shady path until they were 
lost to sight. 

The day was lovely. A westerly breeze blew wafts of 
fragrance from the odorous pines and hemlock woods, re- 
freshed by the late rains. Eifts of quivering sunshine flecked 
the short grass at their feet, and the birds warbled from 
leafy coverts. Some fine, electric sense governed each, 
keeping them quiet a long while, one of those perfect pauses 
of satisfied silence. Daisy was first to break it. 

“ I don’t know how to thank you for the letter you sent 
me. I wanted to answer it, only it seemed so perfect in 
itself, I knew not what to say.” 

Her voice faltered, and the long lashes drooped over her 
eyes. 

“ I am glad it comforted you.” He took in his the little 
hand that rested on his arm, as he went on , — 

“ How singularly the events of our lives come about ! 
Does it not seem as if when God was leading us through the 
darkest paths, He had some pleasant valley of Elim at the 
end, where we could sit down in the shade of the seventy trees 
of palm, and forget our griefs ? ” 

“ Yes. The shade is so good, so grateful, after we have 


252 


IN TRUaT, OR 


been through the desert ! ” Then she sighed softly, for she 
knew all of life must be a little shady to her. 

Richard had been through the desert, and borne some 
burdens. Not so bitter as hers, but enough to make him enjoy 
this restful present with the keenest pulse of his being. Ho 
could have wandered forever under these trees, holding in 
Lis heart a life so full and rich, that for the present it replied 
to itself in all the blessedness of hope. When she glanced 
shyly upward, her color deepened no more than usual, and 
there was the same tenderness in his voice that had come 
the night of the baby’s death. Hitherto there had been no 
event in their quiet lives sufficient to rouse self-examination. 
Her grief still rendered her sacred in his eyes. 

When they returned, they found the party gathered on the 
balcony, earnestly discussing some news the day’s mail had 
brought Mrs. Suydam. The aunt and cousins, who had ex- 
pected to meet her and Ulric at Saratoga, were deeply disap- 
pointed at their defection, and proposed making them a visit, 
if agreeable. 

“ They will be quite an addition to our Catskill party,” 
said Mrs. Suydam. “ Aunt Auchester is a charming woman ; 
indeed, she was always a mother to me. Fred and Leonard 
are great favorites of mine, and Clara bewitches everybody, 
I believe. But we must make some arrangements. Dr. 
Bertrand, how soon will Mrs. Gregory be strong enough to 
travel ? ” 

“ In a fortnight or so, I think. I shall take her under my 
charge, you know.” 

“ What a caravan ! ” laughed Lily. “ Mr. and Mrs. Greg- 
ory, child, physician ; three sisters and one brother to ad- 
mire the baby, and uphold the mother’s dignity.” 

“ And when I add my quota,” rejoined Mrs. Suydam — 
“ an aunt, three cousins, servant, and little Isabel here, 
whom Tessy and Ulric have smuggled in.” 

Mr. Auchester stooped to kiss his favorite niece, saying, — 

“ You have left me out altogether.” 


DR. BERTRAND’S HOITSEHOLD. 


253 


“A great mistake,” exclaimed Tessj, counting 'he partj 
over on her fingers. 

“ I must write immediately, and learn what state and 
condition they are likely to be in at the Mountain House,” 
said Mr. Auchester. “ The rush will have lessened some- 
what, on account of the lateness of the season. But it 
will suit me much better than these red-hot days. We 
can have such fine rambles ; and there will be moonlight 
evenings.” 

Splendid ! ’ ejaculated Lily and Tessy in a breath. 

Richard glanced at his watch, and remarked, rather 
regretfully, that his train would be along soon. He had -a 
few last charges for Mabel ; and while they were talking, 
Mr. Auchester- sent Daisy and Lily for their hats, an- 
nouncing that he intended to drive Dr. Bertrand to the 
station. 

Tessy’s bright face was shadowed with disappointment. 

“ Never mind,” said Mrs. Suydam. “ You shall ride 
home with me, and they can call for you. I must prepare 
my little fiock for returning. What a dear, delightful day 
it has been ! There could not be a better baby than mj 
little namesake. I am extremely proud of her.” 

There followed a general dispersion. Mabel, obeying hor 
brother’s suggestion, went immediately to bed. She was a 
little tired and excited, but youth and a tranquil mind men 
asserted their sway. Baby was laid to sleep in her snowy 
crib, and the young mother was not long in following so 
good an example. 

Lily put Daisy and Richard on the back seat, as she 
wanted to drive. IJlric Auchester leaned lazily against the 
arm at his side, congratulating himself on being relieved 
from so much trouble. 

“ Richard is precious to me. I cannot have you breaking 
his neck,” retorted Lily, saucily. 

“You ought. to be everlastingly grateful to me, Miss Lily, 
for suifeiing so much in your behalf. How could you have 

22 


254 


IN TKU8T, OB 


endured the tedium of a winter in the country if I had not 
been half crushed to death in order to afiord you some 
interest ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Lily, with gravity. 
‘"I think I must have been homesick. Weren’t my letters to 
you before that period perfect Jeremiads, Daisy ? ” 

“ And afterwards, Mrs. Bertrand ? ” 

Daisy colored in spite of herself, and Lily flushed -with 
tell-tale warmth. Mr. Auchester enjoyed the confusion he 
had created, and pinched the round arm that looked so 
tempting through its white sleeve. 

Though Daisy joined the badinage, her heart was not 
very gay. As they paused, with the train coming down in 
sight, she gave words to the thoughts of the last fifteen 
minutes : — 

“ I am so sorry to have you go alone ! If there was only 
some one to welcome you home ! ” 

There passed through Bichard’s mind a vision of the dear, 
old, lonely home, and no sweet face to meet him as he 
entered the hall. AVith rare tenderness in his voice, he 
said, — 

“ Thank you. I shall know you are thinking of me.” 
Then he kissed both girls fondly, and stepped into the cars. 
Another moment the train was winding round the curve, 
half hidden by the foliage. Daisy’s heart went down the 
beautiful river-side with him. She loved them all dearly, 
but she could have left the others more easily than remain 
without him. She did not question her heart. Self-anatomy 
was not one of her characteristics. She only felt that he 
had been kind to her beyond any claim her forlorn situation 
might have had upon him. Knowing her whole history, he 
had freely given her a regard with no humiliating sense of 
pity in it. The rest were all untried. The longer she lived 
with them, the higher and keener her perceptions of honoi 
became. At times she shivered with a strange, intense 
pain, as if she had been actually guilty, instead of deeply 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


255 


unfortunate. In such moments her heart clung to Hi chard 
with hungering, despairing affection. 

They chose the longest route by the river’s edge on thc/ir 
return. Lily and Mr. Auchester kept up a gay sparring; so 
there was little need of her talking. At Mrs. Suydam’s 
they took in Tessy, and by dint of slow driving they made 
it twilight ere they reached home. 

As Mabel was asleep, Daisy went into the study, and 
talked a while with Mr. Chaloner. He had grown exceed- 
ingly fond of her. Indeed, she exercised a subtle influence 
over all she came in contact with. It was impossible not to 
love her. 

Lily and Mr. Auchester had the balcony to themselves, 
where, after teasing him almost beyond endurance, she 
gave him some rare glimpses of her heart. Her love was 
such a dainty, delicious thing when she did bestow it upon 
aim. 

Their courtship was anything but a good preparation foi 
the after life they were to spend together. Neither, per- 
haps, had any clear idea of the responsibility thus accepted. 
Lily’s grace, beauty, and freshness had attracted him singu- 
larly, while yet an invalid. But for her the nurse would 
have had an unreasonable patient. He had never been ill 
a week in his life, and at such a juncture, when old friends 
stood ready to give a hand of cordial welcome to the young 
traveller, and his book needed his immediate supervision, 
it was provoking to waste his days in suffering brought on 
by another’s carelessness. 

At eight and twenty, with his many advantages of society, 
he considered himself quite an adept in reading women. 
Had he mot Lily as the centre of some gay group, he 
would have been ready to suspect artifice and stratagem, 
because he was convinced, in his own mind, no woman of 
the world could be free from these vices. But Lily was so 
frank, so indifferent about pleasing, and enjoyed the ordi- 
nary events of life with such a thorough zest, that she invarb 


256 


IN TEUST, OR 


ably brought sunshfne into the sick room. As % background 
to her picture, he beheld Mrs. Gregory, and the happy 
wedded life of which he had sometimes dreamed. He liked 
the deference Mrs. Gregory paid her husband, and the high- 
toned affection evident in each little act, yet never paraded 
obtrusively. 

He imagined he could mould Lily to his will, since the 
good substratum of principle was already ingrained in her 
nature. There were certainly many admirable traits in her 
character. And perhaps what fascinated Mr. Auchester 
most was her generous submission when conquered or con- 
vinced. Although wilful in an eminent degree, there wa? 
not a particle of sullen pride about her. He had an impa- 
tient longing to try his hand at governing the fair, high- 
spirited girl while he yet lay ill in bed. And it piqued him 
not a little to be compelled to sue for favors when all his 
life, hitherto, he had taken them as a right. 

At first, circumstances had conspired to mislead him. At 
Mrs. Suydam’s, when Lily had been in her most charming 
mood, a slight restraint had surrounded her. And at home, 
Mr. Auchester’s visits had been generally by appointment ; 
so there was little chance for coquetry. Lily chafed at the 
authority he assumed, but she was not long in learning her 
own power — a dangerous knowledge for such a nature. 
Richard had stipulated that there should be no positive 
engagement between them, as he considered her too young 
and thoughtless for so momentous a decision. 

O 

Therefore Lily queened it in an exacting, tormenting 
fashion, and carried it all off with an assumption of igno- 
rance, that he was won into forgiving even when most deeply 
vexed. Yet it must be confessed he was not quite satisfied 
with Lily’s manner of loving. The hours in which she 
seemed all that he could desire were rather the excep- 
tions. 

Tt might be that she had not yet come to the full time of 
love, and was unable to concentrate her feelings in one 


DR. BERTRAND'S HODSEHOLD. 


257 


channel. He accepted the gay, impetuous child in trust for 
the future woman. He had a large share of both pride and 
persistency ; and even when most tried with her, his deter- 
mination for mastery over her heart never failed him. He 
knew if he questioned her closely about any troublesome 
matter, she might preserve an obstinate silence, but would 
never even hint at an untruth. 


258 


IN TKTT8T. O* 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

tiOTe, thou hast pleasures, and deep hae 1 1( ved } 

Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I proved. 

Burns. 

But your red smile was too warm, Sweet, 

And your little heart too cold. 

And your blue eyes too blue merely. 

For a strong, sad man to scold. 

Weep, or scorn you. 

Owen Meredith. 

For the next ten days there was no special excitement at 
Rothelan. Mabel drove out frequently, and baby appeared 
to be in the highest state of perfection. Tessy fluctuated 
between it and the nursery at Mrs. Suydam’s. Daisy was 
much with Lily, and Mr. Auchester fell into the habit of 
treating her as the others did — with an almost reverent ten- 
derness. She difi’used a cool and tranquil mental atmos- 
phere wherever she went. 

Mrs. Auchester and her family accepted Mrs. Suydam’s 
invitation with evident pleasure. The day after their arrival 
she brought the ladies to call at the rectory. Mrs. Auchester 
wa^ stout and matronly, but with girlish bloom and fresh- 
ness, and a rich, cheerful voice, that found its way to one’s 
heart immediately. Clara was barely medium height, but 
graceful, and not absolutely plain, though she paled beside 
Lily’s beauty. Her arch, vivacious manner was extremely 
winning. 

The baby was brought down for inspection. Clara amused 
them with droll descriptions of the only babies she had any 
ehance tc admire at home — little shining black children, 


DR. Bertrand’s hovsehold. 2 !)^ 

dressed up in immense caps, and brought to “ Missis ” for a 
name ; “ except when my sister comes,” she added, “ who 
has the grace not to present herself without bringing a baby, 
solely to gratify my fancy.” 

Then she began to descant on “ cousin Ulric.” Both 
iVIrs. Suydam and her brother had spent much of their 
young life in Virginia, with this aunt and uncle, having 
been early left orphans. 

“ You can’t think how vexed I was because Ulric did not 
come to Saratoga. I was absolutely counting on it. And 
we had not seen him for five years. Now and then, some 
lady we met would speak of him, and half envy me my 
cousinship ; great good it did me. But last night I gave 
him a lecture, I assure you.” 

Lily colored a little. For, after all, Mabel’s objection to 
her becoming one of the Saratoga party had decided Mr. 
Auchester in remaining at home. 

“ He has changed so much !” Clara went on. “ Do you 
know I felt quite afraid of him at first ! He is as stately as a 
prince. I shall tease him out of his new-found dignity. 
But his book is charming. He will be spoiled by so much 
adulation.” 

“ I think he bears his honors well,” said Daisy. 

“ He’s a darling,” laughed Clara. “ I think seriously of 
spending next winter in New York on his account. Fancy 
the sensation of being introduced as Mr. Auchester’s cousin ! ” 

Mrs. Suydam begged Lily and Daisy to accompany her 
hen: 3. Daisy declined, but Lily compromised by promising 
to come in time for supper, and spend the evening. 

You may as well begin visiting me at once,” Clara ex- 
claimed, “ for if you do not I shall come to the rector) 
every day. Cousin Alice has said so much about you all, 
that I feel remarkably well acquainted.” 

“ Clara ! ” said her mother, reprovingly. 

“ 0, I haven’t frightened them a bit, mamma. Perhaps 
it wouldn’t be bad to threaten a call before breakfast.” 


260 


IN TRUST, OR 


They all laughed. “ The only obstacle would be your dis- 
like of early rising,” remarked Mrs. Suydain. 

Philip walked over with Lily about mid afternoon. Clara 
was waiting impatiently, and carried her olf at once to her 
own room, where she made her repeat the story of Ulric’s 
accident, and describe the party in New York. They did 
not come down stairs until the tea bell rang, when Lily was 
introduced to the gentlemen. 

Leonard Aucliester resembled Clara a great deal, and was 
still boyish at twenty. Fred, six years his senior, was much 
in the style of his cousin Ulric. He set about rendering 
himself agreeable to Lily, for Clara quite monopolized Ulric. 
Her gayety was contagious ; and, as her sharp sallies rarely 
degenerated into sarcasm, every one enjoyed them. 

They walked up and down the long balcony, in the sum- 
mer twilight — a happy group, bright with youth and hope. 
Just inside the window Mrs. Suydarn sat playing. Pres- 
ently her fingers ran into the Olga. 

“ 0, that sweet, delicious waltz ! How it reminds me of 
old times, when mamma used to play it for us children 1 
Come, Ulric ! ” and the next instant Clara had him whirling 
down the balcony to the wave-like motion. 

They were passing up, when Fred exclaimed, — 

“It’s a shame for them to have all the enjoyment. Miss 
Bertrand, grant me the favor, please ; ” and he extended his 
hand. 

Lily raised her eyes to Ulric with a beseeching glance. 
He bit his lip in vexation, then answered with one of reluc- 
tant acquiescence. Waltzing with any one besides him had 
been interdicted since he became her lover. Fred saw the 
exchange of looks, and smiled internally. He had consid* 
eiable vanity, and was in the habit of appropriating the 
pleasant things of life, whether they were his by right 
or not. 

They floated down the open space, fragrant with snowy 
stems of Madeira vines, that nodded from every column, as 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


261 


if keeping time to “ twinkling feet.” Waltzing with Lily 
was certainly the poetry of motion. The lovely face with 
eyes downcast, the shining golden ringlets that fell and 
floated around her, the exquisite shoulders and arms out- 
lined through the flowing drapery, gave her a weird, Undine- 
like beauty. Ulric Auchester experienced a nervous, un- 
comfortable sensation, akin to jealousy. He tried to strangle 
it, but it proved too great for him. Could he have refused 
permission without appearing ungenerous ? Since he had 
iinwittingly set the bad example, he must abide by the result. 
Yet a moment or an hour could not change Lily’s allegiance. 
Still, the white, slender hand drooping over Fred’s shoulder 
would give him a pang. 

He took advantage of a half sigh from Clara to wheel her 
around into a seat, and exclaim, — 

“ You are tired ! ” 

“ 0, no, indeed ! I could waltz all night. You surely are 
not going to give up ? ” 

“ It’s too warm for such work ! ” he said, decisively. 

Clara found a fan, and began plying it. She paused, sud- 
denly, to say, involuntarily, — 

“How perfectly lovely Miss Bertrand is! And such 
dancing 1 Wouldn’t she bewilder the hosts at Saratoga, 
or any other watering-place ? ” 

A chill crept over Ulric, in spite of the summer niglit. He 
tried to catch Lily’s eye ; he put out his foot so she must 
brush past it. Both were useless. The hot, angry blood 
surged to his heart in torrents, and his eyes darkened with .i 
new and fierce light. Never before had his passionate natuie 
been so profoundly stirred. The depth of jealous regard 
startled even himself. By a strong effort he restrained the 
feeling, and kept a calm exterior over these raging fires. 
But in those brief moments he had a startling foretaste of 
anguish and despair. 

Lily paused at length, flushed, radiant, full of royal beauty 
and brightness. Sitting down by Ulric, she disarmed him 


262 


IN TRUST, OR 


with a trustful glance, that seemed to thank him for the in* 
dulgence he had granted. But to him she appeared just 
snatched from a great danger. With a total revulsion of 
feeling he bent his proud head a trifle, and smiled upon her. 
The little fingers crept caressingly over his, thrilling him 
with keenest enjoyment. He had hardly dreamed before 
how dear she was to him. 

Fred sauntered towards them a little puzzled — perhaps, 
too, a little piqued. Mrs. Suydarn sent for some cream, and 
in the general conversation that ensued, they planned a ride 
for the following morning. Clara had never visited her cous- 
in’s country house before, and was anxious to see its sur- 
roundings. 

Lily and Mr. Auchester walked home. There was no 
moon, but the star-crowned night was none the less lovely. 
A faint breeze wandered through the hollows in musical 
monotones. He fancied he had much to say ; but Lily was 
changeful and illusive as a butterfly, utterly ignoring the sub- 
ject to which he wished to lead her. So they stood at the 
hall door of the rectory, he for once uncertain, and almost 
powerless. 

“ Lily,” he began, rather abruptly, “ I wish our engage- 
ment could be announced.” 

“ It isn’t quite an engagement,” she returned, archly. 
“ And you promised Richard — ” 

“ Yes, I know.” He made an impatient gesture. “ Lily, 
you do love me ? ” 

“ When you are good to me — dearly, dearly ; ” and she 
stopped further questioning by her eager kisses. 

A little surprised by the readiness of her caress, — for she 
was delicately chary in such matters, — he could only return 
it in silence. After some moments he said, with solemn 
tenderness, — 

“ I mean always to be good to you, my darling. If on 
any point I should think differently, will you not trust mj 
wider experience, my more mature judgment ? ” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


263 


He could not see the half-amused expression of her face, 
but her silence seemed to promise faith in him. 

When he had shut the gate, she ran up stairs to Daisy, in 
an overflow of satisfaction. 

“ You have enjoyed yourself,” Daisy remarked, glancing 
at the happy girl. 

“ 0, such a gay, delightful time ! The Auchesters are 
charming. I believe Fred is even handsomer than — Ulric.” 

She uttered the name with a slight effort 

“ And what else ? ” 

“ I waltzed with him, Daisy.” She laughed in gay au- 
dacity. 

“ 0 Lily ! — I thought — ” 

“ Don’t distress yourself, dear. His royal highness con- 
sented. Indeed, he led off by dancing with Clara, and I 
looked so imploringly he couldn’t resist, or did not dare, be- 
fore so many. I know he wanted to scold me a little on our 
homeward way, but for once I really managed him.” 

“ Yet you knew he disapproved of it. 0 Lily, how could 
you ? ” There was a gentle reproach in both voice and eye. 

“ I think I ought to have my own way occasionally,” Lily 
began, in a spoiled-child tone. “ One gets tired of playing 
Katharine all the time to so lordly a Petruchio. It frets me 
to be good and obedient. I want to be equal ; at least, to 
have my share of the power.” 

“ After all, Lily, what difference does it make, when one 
is sure of being loved supremely ? Are not men oftener 
ruled by affection than by any foolish supremacy on our part? 
And Mr. Auchester is older, has seen so much more of life 
than you.” 

“ That’s just it,” returned Lily, petulantly. “ He has had 
his fun and gay times, and I want mine. I was glad to show 
him te-night that his cousin thought me attractive.” 

“ 0 Lily ! Lily ! what are you saying ? Do you desir« 
any other man’s admiration while you have his love ? ” 

Lily’s face flushed hotly. 


264 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ I only want to convince him that there are plenty of 
people in the world who could have liked me.” 

“ As if he doubted it ! And if they do like you, Lily, 
what then ? ” 

“ I suppose I shall love him best of all, some day. Only, 
I keep wondering how this ‘ best of all love ’ affects one. 
And — I like fun. It gives me a strange satisfaction to 
tease him. Once in a while the chain grows too heavy, and 
slipping it aside, I draw in a long breath, and take a good run 
into some forbidden garden. After that I can endure the 
chain again. Did you ever feel thus ? ” 

“ No,” Daisy said, slowly. 

“ You loved Robert all the time ? ” and Lily glanced into 
the soft eyes with earnest scrutiny. 

“ Yes, at first. I couldn’t have loved any one else then. 
And if he had always been fond — ” 

A singular sensation compelled Daisy to pause. A sus- 
picion flashed over her that if Robert could come back this 
night, it would not afford her the highest satisfaction. How 
had she come to realize there was a more blessed happiness 
in love than any she had experienced ? Philip and Mabel 
were before her daily, to be sure, but she seemed to have 
gone to some other source for the knowledge. 

Lily talked away her mutinous spirit, and with fond good- 
night kisses they went to pleasant slumbers — the one who 
had sorrowed so little, the one who had sorrowed so much. 

The party rode over early the next morning. Mr. Auches- 
ter brought a horse for Lily, so that Daisy might share their 
enjoyment ; but she shyly declined. He appealed to Mrs. 
Gregory. 

“ I wish she would go,” Mabel said. “ When my brother 
was up, he insisted on her taking more exercise in the open 
air. You haven’t obeyed very well, Daisy.” 

“ Please do,” Mr. Auchester resumed. “ I wish it very 
much.” He bent his head a little, and their eyes met at the 
last words. Both understood intuitively. Yet it was not 


BE. BERTEAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


266 


pleasant to be made his confidant, when all he needed was 
to hint a distrust of Lily, and ask from her a little watchful- 
ness. She yielded, however, to what Lily had laughingly 
termed his “ evil eye.” It did shadow forth a curious power, 
difficult to dispute or refuse. 

She went rather unwillingly, though she was the better fci 
her exertion, and nothing occurred to mar their pleasure. 
Whether Lily felt a trifle repentant, or Fred Auchester made 
no effort to win her from her allegiance, could hardly be told. 
After a little he devoted himself to Daisy. He soon dis- 
pelled the prejudice that had risen in her mind. Indeed, he 
had made the art of fascination too much of a study to fail 
easily. 

He kept a little attention to bestow upon Lily and his 
cousin. He fancied he should be able to determine whether 
there was anything deeper than friendship between them, 
but returned home in some doubt. Finding Mrs. Suydam 
alone, shortly after, he asked, carelessly, — 

“ Are Ulric and Miss Bertrand engaged, Alice ? ” 

Mrs. Suydam colored slightly, between the fear of saying 
too much and not enough, and answered, reluctantly, — 

“ Not exactly.” 

“ I think his seclusion deserves commendation. I had no 
idea there was so much beauty hidden in this out of the way 
place. What lovely, sad eyes that little Mrs. Bertrand has ' 
But such a young widow — why, she could hardly have out- 
grown babyhood at her marriage.” 

Mrs. Suydam was glad to leave Ulric’s afi’airs ; so she des- 
^ canted somewhat upon Daisy’s history. That there had been 
any cause for sorrow prior to Robert’s death, had never been 
breathed beyond the family circle. 

Clara became, as she had threatened, a frequent visitor at 
the rectory. She made royal friends with Tessy, and b'om 
thence up to Mr. Chaloner. When baby was awake she trans- 
formed herself into a most attentive nurse. Alice was a 
very satisfactory piece of babyhood, plump, white, with silky 
23 


266 


IN TKUST, OB 


brown hair half an inch long, and a cunning dimple in her 
chin. Every day Tessy reported progress on the baby’s 
eyebrows and lashes, the growth of which seemed a perfect 
marvel to the child. 

Mr. Auchester received word that nearly half of the Moun- 
tain House would be at the disposal of his party, llichard 
was heard from also, and the day appointed for their 
journey. 

Fred Auchester became deeply interested in Lily. Ulric 
watched her closely. She would probably have rebelled but 
for a counteracting influence. This was from Fred, although 
she supposed it happened naturally. He managed that there 
should be some moments and some places free from this 
ceaseless vigilance. Lily enjoyed these opportunities with 
the zest of a thoughtless child. She did not mean to be dis- 
honest, she never even fancied there was anything to conceal, 

Fred Auchester would not have deliberately set himself 
about winning any girl’s heart, not so much from a sense of 
honor, as an ardent love of his own liberty. He was accus- 
tomed to please himself first of all, without thinking much 
of the manner in which it was done. Most of the young 
ladies he had met were ready enough for a flirtation. But 
Lily’s simplicity and purity puzzled him a little. She openly 
laughed at his flatteries, and held herself above his familiari- 
ties with a sort of regal dignity. She fretted his vanity by 
her apparent insensibility, but it made him only the more 
earnest to succeed. Consequently he manoeuvred for some 
horns when he could see her alone, or in the presence of 
Clara, and was rather formal to her in general. 

Ulric was compelled to be absent two days, as he was 
iuvited to the city to meet some distinguished gentlemen, 
among w^hom were two savans, soon going abroad. Refusal 
was out of the question, though he went reluctantly. Lily 
ioiproved the opportunity of regaining a little of her old in- 
dependence. And so she floated down the sparkling tide 
uno)nsciou8 of danger. 


DK. BERTRAND S HOlfSEHOLD. 


267 


CHAPTEK XXVIII. 

Alas ! how love can trifle with itself ! 

Shakspeare. 

Why, then, to love and trust 
Is but to lend a traitor arms wherewith 
To pierce our souls. 

Mbs. Hemans. 

The party at the Catskills brought with them hearts fol 
the most thorough enjoyment. It was to be a real holiday 
for all. Even Richard laid aside his cares, and slipped 
imperceptibly into a mood of indolent enjoyment. Indeed, 
there was nothing else for him to do. His family seemed 
inclined to dispose of themselves. Archie took to Philip 
in a boyish, enthusiastic fashion, shared his walks, and was 
most happy when he could command his attention for the 
discussions that were the youth’s delight. Tessy flitted from 
baby Alice to Isabel Suydam, and occasionally strayed off 
with Leonard Auchester, who appeared to consider himself 
her special cavalier. The boyish element in his nature 
found an outlet in these attentions. But Tessy did not 
develop any flirting propensities. She gravely accepted 
Leonard’s escort and devotion, acknowledged flowers or 
little favors with a womanly dignity that would have been 
amusing but for its perfect good faith. There was no undue 
forwardness to distress Mabel; so she only looked on with 
a quiet smile. 

Lily and Clara were inseparables, and sheltered themselves 
a great deal under Mrs. Auchester’s indulgent wing. Fred 
and Ulric were their attendant shadows. Clara appropriated 
her cousin when it suited her fancy, as she did every one 


268 


IN TRUST, OR 


else. It was more difficult to break away from her, because 
she based her regard and privilege on pure cousinly grounds, 
and took the latter as a right. 

IJlric found that in some indescribable way ho had lost 
rather than gained with Lily. Not in regard, for in her fit- 
ful fashion she was more lavish than ever before. Yet it 
satisfied him less than her chary, piquant coolness. Fred’s 
attentions could not be at all exclusive, for Lily’s beauty 
and vivacity attracted others to her shrine. Among the 
lingerers at the Mountain House were several unexception- 
able gendemen, who saw in her freshness the same charm 
that had won Ulric Auchester months before. And this 
new life fed her desire for power and admiration. She 
seemed to ripen with a summer warmth, to dazzle with a 
swift, enchanting grace that stirred the pulses of those she 
came in contact with. Capricious, versatile, haughty, and 
gentle, by turns, no one could be sure of her next mood. 
Her fascination never palled on or satisfied any one. Ulric 
felt the tide too strong for him to breast, and resolved to 
wait and watch patiently until they came to quiet sailing. 

The elders — matrons of three degrees — kept much to- 
gether. Mabel had visited the mountains shortly after her 
arrival at Kothelan, and was quite content to miss some of 
the rides and walks that the girls enlarged upon so raptu- 
rously. She listened with evident pleasure to all ; indeed, 
her apartment was considered a kind of headquarters, where 
every one went to report. 

And Daisy ? Perhaps it was not surprising that Eichani 
should in some degree forget the others. Mabel’s fond 
eyes had already detected the secret unconfessed to himselx* 
Without exciting the slightest suspicion, she managed ta 
give them much of each other’s society. To Daisy it was a 
bright, new world, opened by the magic hand of Love. Her 
enjoyment rendered the mountains a fairy Alp, the falls 
a Niagara. The refined enthusiasm that was a part of hei 
nature, and had met with no vent hitherto, came out now. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


269 


Her eyes deepened and filled with a tender, joyous light, 
the old shadow often disappearing entirely. And Kichard 
took a strange delight in wandering alone with her — the 
sweet selfishness of ripening love when it longs to garner up 
every smile, every word, and to feel them particularly its 
own. What lovely, enchanting days those were ! He lived 
in a charmed atmosphere. She felt the new life in every 
pulse, yet was too innocent to give it a name. And so it 
happened they often walked or rode happy in silence, save 
where the beauty of Nature in some of its wild groupings 
demanded words from the full soul, steeped in its perfect 
loveliness. They lingered in dusky hollows, where the moist 
odor of the trees gave out its peculiar fragrance, and the 
unceasing melody of the falling waters brought a dim and 
dreamy satisfaction, as if it was a retrospect of some past 
existence. 

And when they chose to go nearer, to stand behind 
the snowy, rushing mass as it came leaping down into it> 
bed of foam for a mere breathing space, and then whirled 
onward, sparkling in the brilliant sunshine, the scene was 
wild and enchanting. The rocky crests were dappled with 
pink and gray, or frost white, save where in some recess it 
changed suddenly to twilight gloom. Here a clump of trees 
stood out boldly in burnished green, or a bit of dead limb 
silvered with the double effect of sun and spray. The 
crested surge danced gayly along, breaking into richer intri- 
cacy, until the w^hole scene glowed in wondrous beauty. 
Yet what Avas that to the tender eyes turned full and ear- 
nestly upon him — the low voice whose sweetness found its 
way to his heart above the din of the roaring, dashing 
waters ? He liked the timid yet perfect trust with which 
she clung to him, and dared dangers that made her tremble. 
Each day brought a new charm, a more delicious knowledge 
of the pure heart unfolding before him. He shut out the 
past. He w^anted to think her tiue life dated from this 
happy present. 


23 * 


270 


IN TRUST, OR 


Lily was delighted with the scenery, also, and enjoyed 
many a pleasant ramble. But Mr. Auchester rarely had her 
to himself. Indeed, an intimacy with the boarders at Pine 
Orchard, a resort a few miles distant, soon sprang up, and 
called for daily drives back and forth. 

Clara was not idle, nor did she allow herself to bo dis- 
tanced. She made a conquest quite speedily. A Mr. Yin- 
cent — grave, gentlemanly, and immensely wealthy, as Fred 
Boon learned — became singularly attracted to the gay girl. 
Clara laughed over the interviews, and declared she took 
him into training from pure generosity ; yet it must be con- 
fessed that she took unusual pains to entertain him, and that 
he evinced a decided preference for her society. As Lily 
was constantly with her, much of Mabel’s oversight was 
necessarily relinquished. 

As I said, Mr. Auchester endeavored to be patient. It 
was a difficult and dangerous struggle. Now and then, 
when Lily rushed daringly into proscribed indulgences, his 
eyes flashed and his voice trembled with suppressed passion. 
She was not wise enough to heed the signs ; while he, aston- 
ished at his own endurance, rather treasured up than for- 
gave, not so much from hardness of will as from the fact that 
she seemed never to think pardon necessary. 

There were many delightful evenings both at the Mountain 
Ilouse and Pine Orchard. The last gayety of the season 
culminated in a hop at the former place. Special pains 
were taken to make the affair highly agreeable. When 
Tessy gained permission to spend an hour or two in the 
dancing-room, her joy was boundless, though sustained with 
spasmodic assumptions of gravity. 

“ And then for home,” exclaimed Mr. Auchester. Truly 
I shall be glad. Who would have thought we should find so 
much dissipation in this quiet place ?” 

“ It’s almost as good as Saratoga. I’m not sure tut that 
I have had more real pleasure,” said Clara. 

“It has been charming — perfect,’* responded Lily. “1 
0hall be sorry to return home.” 


DJR. BBBTEAKD’s HOT/SEHOLB. 


271 


•• Is It really your idea of perfect happiness ? ” Mr. A.u* 
/Hester asked, while his eyes forced hers to meet them. 

Perfect of its kind, certainly.” 

“ And its kind is very satisfactory, I suppose ? ” 

“ I should be most ungrateful if it were not, after all iht 
trouble that has been taken for my enjoyment,” was Lily’i 
adroit reply. 

“ 1 think we shall have something different presently,” 
Mr. Auchester said, biting his lip. 

Anything for a variety,” laughed the gay girl. 

But when Mr. Auchester asked her to walk with him, she 
pleaded her dress, which must be put in order for the evening, 
and, with one pretence or another, gave him no opportunity 
to see her alone. After dinner the girls indulged in a 
refreshing siesta. Then Lily went down to the balcony, 
and found Fred and Archie reading. 

“ You are too late,” Fred exclaimed, mischievously. 
‘ Mr. Gregory has taken off my august cousin. If you will 
allow me to try, I may perhaps be able to give you as good 
advice.” 

“ 1 am in an admirable mood ; so proceed,” said Lily, 
archly. 

“ Suppose we take a little walk, then, while I collect my 
scattered thoughts, unless you are afraid of offending his 
high mightiness.” 

He knew it was just the sort of an insinuation to make 
Lily yield. He was forced to admit to himself that he had 
not won one victory over this charming girl, and it wounded 
his vanity considerably. He was not used to being thwarted 
m this fashion, and it increased his desire. If she would 
only forget every one else just a moment for him ! 

“ You seem to stand a good deal in awe of your cousin,” 
she said, with an arch gayety that quite took off the point of 
his speech. “ And I am ready for the walk. Will you 
eome, Archie ? ” 

No. Archie was too deeply interested in his book. 


m 


IN TRUST, OR 


Clara watched them sauntering down th« path. “ What i 
foolish child ! ” she said to herself. “ She ought to keep hei 
freshness for this evening.” 

Lily would have been very well satisfied if Archie had ac- 
companied them. She did not intend to go far, but in the 
enjoyment of the walk and their gay conversation she soon 
forgot her prudent resolves. 

Philip and Mr. Auchester returned presently. The lattei 
lounged about uneasily until invited into Mrs. Gregory’* 
parlor. Clara soon joined them. 

“ Where is Lily ?” he asked. 

“ I saw her go off with Fred half an hour ago,” sh« 
answered, with a suggestive little smile. 

He generally ignored her attempts at teasing him, but jusi 
now he felt in anything but a tranquil mood. So they had s 
rather sharp skirmish, ending by his retreat from the field. 
He went immediately in search of Lily, as the best method 
of cooling his temper. The calmness of the past fortnight 
was breaking up like an ice-bound sea. Hard and jagged 
edges of distrust, suspicion, wounded love and pride, clashed 
together in his mind. What did the child mean by giving 
him this burden to carry ? Surely she must love him in a 
weak, easily satisfied manner, not as he loved her. And the 
thought that he was not all to her, stung him with a keen 
pain. 

With eager steps he sought her in familiar haunts, in vain. 
They must have gone some distance, then. The picture that 
persistently rose before him was not a pleasant one for a man 
in his mental state to linger over. With morbid quickness he 
recalled every incident since that first evening with Fred. 
Had they been honorable rivals, each endeavoring to win 
Lily, he would have regarded his cousin with a certain re- 
spect. But it was the acknowledged trifling that angered 
him now — that, in spite of himself, gloomed over his heart, 
and brought a fierce light to his eyes. The luxury of hope, 
the past enj )yment of bliss, and the solemn surety of 9 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


273 


passion strengthening and deepening with every hour of his 
existence, turned into a tempest, and raged wildly through 
his soul. 

Better that the fire had spent itself then, than that he, 
with one of those strong impulses common to self-centred 
men, should have smothered it. He said, with a cold, but 
determined mastery over himself, that he would be calm ; 
and thus his eyes were blinded to the real crisis by the very 
feelings he was attempting to control. 

The westward sun was sending lengthening shadows from 
tree and shrub, when he saw them come in sight, walking 
slowly, Lily apparently in her gayest mood. Some power 
impelled him to step aside and let them pass. Fred was 
carrying a bunch of scarlet salvia. When they paused at 
the steps, he said, — 

“ Here are your flowers. You will wear some to-night for 
my sake, and I promise to consider myself amply repaid for 
my trouble.” 

She flushed a trifle at his glance, and replied, — 

“ You are the perfection of cavaliers, certainly. I am 
obliged, and also glad to find you so easily recompensed. 
They are lovely.” And she held out her hand for the 
bouquet. 

Fred Auchester’s first daring impulse was to press the 
dainty fingers to his lips ; but he had learned a little by ex- 
perience. He merely bowed, and held the hand in his some 
seconds longer than was necessary. 

“ I am all impatience for to-night ! ” he resumed. “ The 
last brilliant afi’air of the season — isn’t that au fait ? And 
a crowd from Pine Orchard to help us make merry. But I 
think I know who will not be eclipsed.” 

“ Your own self, for instance,” returned Lily, laughing. 
“ Such an event is not down in the almanac. There ia 
no fear. But we must be late, for I hear the bell. Adieu ! ’* 
And she glided through the hall. 

“ Where have you been, runaway ? ’’ exclaimed Clarai 


274 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ Ulric went to look for you an hour ago. The yourg man 
is evidently on the ‘ rampage.’ And, Lily, if he should ever 
become your lord and master, I think you would stand a fair 
chance of being ‘ brought up by hand.’ ” 

Lily’s eyes sparkled with a light compounded of pride and 
amusement. 

“ And those splendid flowers ! ” continued Clara. “ Can’t 
you spare me a stem cr two for my adornment ? Where in 
tlie world did you find them ? ” 

“You may have as many as you wish,” said Lily, arran- 
ging them in a vase of water. 

“ You had better hurry ! ” Mrs. Auchester exclaimed, as 
she entered the girls’ apartment. “ The supper bell will 
ring soon.” 

Lily gathered her shining curls in a net, changed her dross, 
and was presentable by the time the summons reached them. 
In the hall Mr. Auchester rose before her like a phantom, 
and drew her hand through his arm. Fred, coming a moment 
later, bit his lip in vexation. 

“ Where have you been ? ” Ulric demanded, in a cool, 
stern whisper. 

“ Rambling, like the river in the poem, ‘ at my own sweet 
will,’ ” she answered, carelessly. “ I must take my fill of 
beauty, for our stay draws to its close.” 

“ I am thankful,” was his almost involuntary announce- 
ment. 

“ Why ? It is so lovely here ! ” and she glanced up with 
the childish abandon that had so often disarmed him. 
“ Remember, I have not seen the whole world and all its 
delights. Daisy and I make Niagara, Switzerland, and the 
Alps out of it. I dare say, as I grow older and wiser, I 
shall smile over this enthusiasm ; but now it is everything 
to me.” 

“ Everything to you ! ” he repeated, with a bitter intona- 
tion. But it was lost upon her, for some one appealed to 
her decision in a trifling matter ; and with a suppressed sigb 


DR. BERTRAKd’s household. 


275 


ho held his peace, and listened to the merry badinage. All 
at their end of the table was complete enjoyment. 

Lily might have lingered awhile with Mr. Auchester, but 
she pleaded dressing as an excuse for hastening away. He 
could not speak of the flowers without betraying a closer 
knowledge of their conversation than he cared to reveal just 
now ; so, thinking if he procured some others it would keep 
her from wearing Fred’s, he left her the more readily. 

Something in his eyes and voice started a faint suspicion 
ir Lily’s mind. But she was too careless to heed it. She 
wanted her full liberty this night, and meant, if possible, to 
evade any opportunity for restriction. 

Clara and she commenced the task of adorning with ready 
fingers. And yet, somehow, Lily dallied unconsciously. 
She brushed her shining hair until it was smooth as satin, 
and rolled off coils of golden ringlets. Early in the day 
she had decided on wearing white ; so there was no discus- 
sion on dress. Daisy and Tessy flitted in and out, the child 
wide-eyed in wondering pleasure. Lily was in a generous 
mood, and nothing annoyed her. 

“ The music ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Auchester, as the band 
began their discord of tuning up, breaking now and then 
into snatches of inspiriting melody. “ Lily, child, how slow 
you are ! Clara is ready.” 

“ All but my flowers. Lily promised to share her spoils 
with me. I should have had a knight sufficiently thoughtful 
to send me some sweet token of his regard. Come, divide 
your scarlet glory.” 

There was a light tap at the door, which Mrs. Auchester 
answered. 

“ Miss Lily ? ” It was Ulricas voice. 

“ Is to remain invisible full fifteen minutes longer,” 
laughed Clara, cautiously peeping out. “ What is youi 
pleasure, my august cousin ? I will undertake t i> convey 
any message to he* chrysalis state.” 

Ulric smiled. My pleasure and wishes, since I cannot 


276 


IN TKU8T, OK 


see her, are, that you will give her these flowers, with mj 
regards, and ask her to wear them to-night. They are my 
especial favorites. And when may I have the pleasure of 
escorting you both to Fairy-land ? ” 

“ I’m glad you did not bring a glass slipper, for we want 
to stay until after midnight. These flowers are most exqui- 
site. But some one has been before you.” 

“ Tell her to wear these,” he said, abruptly, turning 
away. 

“ I wonder where he found tuberoses ? ” Clara said, as she 
handed them to Lily. “ Mrs. Kinston was frantic for some, 
and said she had sent everywhere. You’ll have to bequeath 
me all the scarlet, now.” 

“ No, indeed. I must have a little. Twist this through 
my curls — will you ? ” And taking some of the moss-buds 
from the edge of the bouquet, she substituted the salvia. 

“ That improves it,” exclaimed Clara. “ I don’t like so 
much dead white.” 

Lily fastened another spray of salvia and a rose-bud in 
her dress at the throat. She did indeed look lovely. The 
bejiuty of her shoulders was enhanced, not hidden, by the 
dress of India mull, delicate as cambric. Her arms were bare, 
but clasped with Richard’s gift, the pearls. The gleam of 
the scarlet flowers heightened the effect ; yet in her secret 
heart she felt a little condemned for wearing them. 

“ You are perfect,” said Clara. “ You will charm evoiy 
one.” 

“ Even Mr. Vincent ? ” 

“ Poach on my manor at your peril ! And now make me 
equally beautiful.” Clara turned away her face to hide its 
uncomfortable warmth. 

She was robed in a thin, gauzy fabric, whose black back- 
grouni sparkled with tiny golden wheat heads, clustered 
about with small, brilliant flowers. Her je^wels were rubies, 
and with trailing stems of salvia in her hair, she looked 
bright and radiant. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


277 


Then they went to Mabel’s room to be admired. They 
ai felt the power of Lily’s beauty. Daisy kissed her with 
a V udden impulse of affection. 

‘‘You do your family great credit,” remarked Diehard, 
with a bow of mock politeness. 

Mabel had some charges to give concerning Tessy, who 
was to be allowed a brief glimpse of the gay scene, in com- 
pany with Isabel Suydam. Fred Auchester made his appear* 
ince, announcing that the Pine Orchard party had arrived. 

“ And where’s my little princess ? ” inquired Leonard. 

The “little princess” was as grave and important as if 
she expected to undergo a court presentation. 

Lily stood quite still until the rest had passed, for she saw 
Mr. Auchester waiting in the hall. They fell somewhat 
behind the otkers, and instead v._f bestowing a word of com- 
mendation upon her, as was his general custom, he asked, 
rather sharply, though in a low tone, — 

“ Where did you get those red flowers ? I thought I sent 
you enough to wear.” 

“ Thanks for yours ; they are lovely. But I liked th6s.e, 
and Clara said they improved me greatly.” 

“ And doubtless some one else will say it. Since you art 
not striving to please me, why should it matter ? ” 

She glanced furtively at his face. It was simply impas- 
sible. It was too late for him to look hurt or annoyed. As 
they reached the ball-room just then, she evaded a reply. 

24 


278 


IN TKU8T, Om 


CHAPTEE XXIX. 

Then g^o ! the promptings of thy heart obey; 

Despise the voice of reason and good counsel; 

Be quite the woman, swayed by each desire, 

That bridleless impels her to and fro. 

Goethe’s Iphigeicia. 

The large apartment had been tastefully ornamented with 
evergreens and clusters of bright berries, with here and 
there a knot of brilliant wild flowers. The glamour of lights 
and music, the beautiful dresses that fluttered and settled 
themselves into a changeful, undulating sea, and the radiant 
faces, formed a most enchanting picture. To Daisy, as well 
as Tessy, it did seem veritable Fairy-land. She walked 
around with Eichard, half bewildered by the sights and 
sounds. The waves of melody throbbing on the night air 
moved her strangely. The undertone of nearly all music is 
unconsciously sad. So she listened with a yearning heart to 
the violin’s clear strain, the French horn blowing out deli- 
ciously tender notes, and the great clang when the heavier 
instruments came in grandly. 

“ You like it ? ” Eichard commented, smiling down into 
the sweet face. 

“ 0, so much ! ” 

He was glad to see her thus happy. Indeed, the scene 
interested him not a little. Yet it seemed a long while aince 
he had made one of such a gay company. 

But when the quadrilles began, when the sea of beauty 
ebbed to and fro, when eyes deepened with enjoyment, she 
found it still more enchanting. Tessy’s cup of happiness 
was full when Leonard led her out on the floor. And then 


DK. BEitTKAND^S HOUSEHOLD. 


279 


fco have Fred, Ulric, and Archie by turns, quite completed 
the little lady’s delight. Before supper she and Isabel with- 
drew, well satisfied to go to pleasant slumbers. 

Clara was quite elated by being sought out in a special 
manner by Mr. Vincent. She seemed to care little for dis- 
puting triumphs with Lily, who grew more bewildering every 
moment. A latent summer, Tvarm and regal, blossomed in 
her. Mr. Auchester resigned himself to what appeared in- 
evitable. He was proud of Lily. He danced several times, 
but only with her, and for the rest, walked with Daisy and 
Ei chard, or watched the calm face that, amid this scene of 
excitement, refreshed him like a cool shade. Some power- 
ful feeling drew him to Daisy this night. 

Quadrilles, waltzes, and promenades vied with each other 
until supper was announced. Ulric would fain have per- 
suaded Lily to retire, but she was in a most resolute mood, 
so he crowded down his fast-rising displeasure. The flowers 
on her breast rankled in his heart. Daisy had disappeared ; 
so there was nothing to soothe his chafed mind. 

Again “viol, flute, and bassoon” filled the air with melody. 
x\gain dainty feet twinkled up and down the floor, and young 
hearts beat time to the happy present. Then a lull, broken 
by a faint, quivering thread, that stole along like the ripple 
of a forest brook ; another stronger and deeper ; and then a 
broad, full chord of melody trembled on the air. Those who 
did not care to dance listened breathlessly to the Zamora. 
Several couples floated down the room, and the whole place 
seemed pulsating with the wonderful rhythm. Standing op- 
posite, Mr. Auchester saw Fred bend over Lily with an out- 
stretched ‘hand. She rose lingeringly, as if hardly lesolved ; 
yet her eyes did not wander to his vicinity. She had no as- 
sent to require as she stepped into the charmed circle. 

He watched her with curious attention. The slender 
figure, the snowy dress clinging about her like a floating 
cloud, the shining hair rippling over her shoulders, cheeks 
of summer bloom, lips of summer ripeness, drooping eyes 


280 


IN TKUST, OR 


with a slumberous fire prisoned in their depths, — how it all 
thrilled him ! He thought of the night he had first seen her 
waltz with his cousin. Why was he not angry now ? What 
did this cold, bland mood presage ? Had she wearied him 
utterly with this trifling ? For he seemed slowly turning 
into ice, or marble. The lights, the figures in the room, 
and the music drifted away as in a dream. Whither ? 

The crash of music ceased. The faint flutes blew out a 
lingering cadence. Fred led Lily partly around the room 
to a door, and into the hall. The buds in her dress had be^ 
come loosened, and fell to the floor. Fred stooped for them. 
Ulric could see the pantomime, and his senses, electrically 
keen, translated it into words. Fred threw away the salvia, 
— it was withered, — and transferred the rose-bud to his vest. 
Lily held up one white hand with a playfully imploring ges- 
ture, and Ulric’ s eyes caught the sparkle of their betrothal 
ring. Fred was resolute. Lily yielded with a bewitching 
smile. 

A moment before Ulric had thought himself all ice ; now 
he was all fire. A blaze of jealous white heat sublimed every 
feature ; his eyes darkened with a fierce and subtle power ; 
his lips were compressed with bitter scorn. This was the 
one on whom he had lavished his manhood’s proud, generous 
love — a foolish girl, who had no thought beyond admiration. 
He despised himself for being so easily blinded — he, who had 
always relied on his judgment — so rarely been mistaken. 
He hurried to them — heard Lily’s false laugh. Stung to 
the heart, he turned at bay. 

“ May I ask you to finish your walk with me, Miss Ber- 
trand ? ” he said, in a calm, cold tone. 

Fred bowed politely and relinquished her. He gave Ulrio 
a sharp glance, but read nothing in the impassible face. 

Lily’s heart beat rapidly as they walked up and down in 
silence. She knew he was angry by the portentous quiet, 
and fortified herself with arguments and excuses. At length 
she said, with daring recklessness, — 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


281 


“ What is your pleasure ? ” 

He paused suddenly, recalled to himself, and returned, 
icily, — 

“ My pleasure is, that you decide this night to whom you 
owe allegiance. I am tired of this child’s play. You caimo 
serve two masters when I am one of them ! ” 

Every pulse of resistance within her mutinied, and she 
retorted scornfully, — 

“ Perhaps I shall not choose to serve any master. I con- 
fess the role of a slave is quite distasteful to me.” 

“ Or that of a woman, either; or anything but a vain, silly 
child. I could have endured your wearing Fred’s flowers, 
hut that you should allow him to keep mine, as a memento 
of this happy evening, is too bitter. And I suppose he is 
ready to endow you with the love he has bestowed on every 
uroman he has met. It is a most generous heart, truly ! ” 

“ You are unjust, ungentlemanly. Hq has never spoken 
one word of love to me ! ” 

“ Love ! as if he knew its meaning ! ” and Ulric made a 
gesture of contempt. “I am done with trifling. I have 
borne all that it is possible for a true man to bear. I have 
been mistaken in you. Dr. Bertrand was quite right — we 
are not suited to each other. And since you so evidently 
prefer your liberty to any regard I can bestow upon 3^ou, 
which must necessarily abridge your power, I yield my 
claim.” 

Ills tone had been rapid, strong in intense bitterness. 
And standing in the doorway, with the light full upon him, 
she could see how stern and cold his face was. She sue to 
him! 

“ Very well.” 

Her voice had a prompt ring in it, that matched his own 
for firmness. She flashed back her curls in superb disdain. 

He merel}' touched her hand, as he returned with her to 
the room, too courteous at heart to allow any one to triumph 
over her. The smiling faces mocked him in <he blinding 
2 ^^ 


282 


IN TRUST, OR 


glare of light. A subtle pride chained him beside her until 
the last bowing was over in the Lancers. Fred kept aloof; 
but Leonard sauntered up, and after a few moments’ con- 
versation, exclaimed, with boyish entreaty, — 

“ There’s that inspiriting Caledonian. You might dance 
with me once more to-night. Miss Lily. Can’t she, Ulric?” 

“ As Miss Lily pleases,” was the quiet rejoinder ; and, as 
they t jok their places, he walked away. 

In the hall he met Daisy. His white, rigid face startled 
her. Indeed, the control of the last few moments wa? 
avenging itself. 

“ What is the matter ? ” she asked, with sudden fear. 

He paused to glance into the peaceful face, the tender, 
pitying eyes. Like the rush of a wild flood his loneliness 
came over him, and he would have grasped at a straw. 
Instead, a firm bridge rose before him. He noticed she 
had a shawl thrown over her shoulders, and with his first 
impulse, said, huskily, — 

“ Let us take a turn down the walk, and I will tell you. 
I need a friend sorely.” 

Indeed, his heart and brain were in a whirl of confusion. 
Wounded love, betrayed trust, jealousy, anger, and a sort 
of proud disdain, ruled him by turns. And it seemed to 
him at this moment that the great want, the only blessing, 
of life was love. He hungered after it with keen intensity, 
in spite of the grim giant of disbelief that stood ready to 
clutch him. 

Daisy yielded to the arm placed with gentlest care par- 
iially around her. She had been walking with Richard, 
who had just gone for a final glimpse of Lily and the merry 
revellers. She sutfered herself to be led away, thinking it 
would be but for a moment. 

“ You are so calm, so restful, Mrs. Bertrand,” he said at 
length. “ The very atmosphere about you is peace itself. 
A.nd I am weary, despairing. My cup of life has come ta 
the bitter dregs.” 


DB. BEBTBAND’s household. 


28 $ 


The sorrowful pathos of his voice touched her. Pausing 
suddenly, she read his face in the silver light. Deep lines 
of suffering were already written upon it, and it displayed 
a capability of keenest anguish. 

“ Lily ! ” was her exclamation. “ In calmer moments 1 
know she will regret this evening’s gayety.” 

“ Eegret will be too late, even if it is possible for her to 
experience such a feeling. I have given her back the onlj 
thing she prizes — her liberty.” 

“0, no, no ! Think a little. She is so young, so suscep- 
tible to outward impressions, and her whole life has been so 
free from care or discipline. And you love her — she loves 
you.” 

There was a pause of some seconds, when he resumed, in 
a calmer tone, — 

“ It seems curious, indeed it is quite unusual, for me to 
give confidences in this fashion ; and yet I think you, Mrs. 
Bertrand, will understand me. It is mortifying to the pride 
of almost any man to confess himself mistaken as to the 
character of the woman he loves. But now, by the light of 
reason and cooler judgment, I must acknowledge Dr. Ber- 
trand right. My passion for Lily was the first love of my 
manhood. Since the foolish dreams and desires of my boy- 
ish days, I have never cared to call any woman mine until 
now. I suppose I was blinded by her grace and beauty. 
And I fancied she did love me. It was such a luxury to 
quaff the first sweetness of her girlish heart ! I tried to be 
indulgent. I yielded points my conscience disapproved of, 
for I knew Dr. Bertrand feared I might go to the other 
extreme. He said she did not know her own mind; that 
she was wilful, headstrong ; that we were not suited to each 
other ; and I, blind fool, rushed on all the more madly. For 
weeks she has shown that she cared only for promiscuous 
admiration. The true love of one man cannot satisfy her. 
It is well that I discovered the fact so soon.” 

“ I think you are unjust to Lily. She is true and stead- 


284 


IN TRUST, OR 


fast in her regards — not so fickle as she seems. If yon 
could look into her heart this moment, you would see it 
filled with love for you.” 

“ Do not try to comfort me in that manner. I am 
thoroughly satisfied that she does not care for me — at least 
in the only way I could accept. It is a hitter lesson, but 
to-morrow I shall be braver. I have shown you a bruised 
and wounded heart, because I know you, too, have sorrowed, 
and although pity from most people is unendurable, yours ii 
sweet, sacred. Be my friend.” 

He took both hands in his with tender earnestness. 

“ Yes,” she said, slowly ; “ I will be your friend. And 
your happiness, as well as Lily’s, is dear to me. When I ask 
you to give her an opportunity to express her sorrow for 
this night’s work, I know you will comply, difficult as it 
may seem ; ” and she looked into his face with pleading 
eyes. 

“ Daisy, it is useless.” 

“ No ; it will not be useless. Why should you two, who 
love one another dearly, be made forever miserable ? You 
will find it sweet to forgive. And love is not such a 
frequent guest that he should be banned and barred out of 
one’s heart.” 

“ You take her affection for a certainty. No woman who 
loved could be so careless, so trifling.” 

“ But an eager, thoughtless girl might. Lily’s horror ia 
subjugation. To avoid this, she has sought the widest 
liberty.” 

“ And you know, my sweet little friend, there cannot be 
two kings over one kingdom. No ; the dream is vain. Had 
she loved me truly, she would have given herself without 
any question. As it is, I can only regret, not alter.” 

A step startled them. Turning, they beheld Bichard at a 
little distance. 

“ He is looking foi me,” Daisy exclaimed, hurriedly. 

‘ For my sake you will try — you will forgive her ? ” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


286 


He could not resist the imploring eyes. The pressure of 
the hand half promised. 

Richard would have retraced his steps, but they soon 
came up to him. 

“ Truant,” he said. “I fancied some of the ‘little folk’ 
had inveigled you into one of their midnight rings, and that 
ycu would henceforth be lost to mortal ken.” 

“ Not so bad as that ; ” and she smiled faintly. 

“ I was to blame for carrying her off. It was a tempting 
relief to the scene within,” said Mr. Auchester. Yet he did 
not release Daisy until they reached the steps. 

She went direct to her room. Richard noted the quiet, 
almost sad, face, but did not express any curiosity. 

An hour after, Clara and Lily made their appearance. It 
was too late for conversation, and they were tired enough to 
go immediately to sleep. Lily’s face told no tales. 

They were all rather late at breakfast the next morning. 
Richard attended both Lily and Daisy. 

Ulric bowed gravely. 

“ What absurd notion do you think this young man has 
been seized with ? ” asked Mrs. Suydam, after the first greet- 
ings were over. 

“ Repentance, after last night’s dissipation,” said Mr. 
Gregory. “ I thought of prescribing a course for you all.” 

“ Indeed, he is so little charmed by our society that he is 
going to New York in the first train. I am positively vexed. 
We shall all leave in a few days, and I am sure any business 
could be postponed.” 

“ Any but mine, perhaps. It is absolutely necessary that 
I should go. And I think I have proved myself too fond 
of indulgence to return to business from choice. I may 
come back.” 

Daisy and Lily were the only ones who made no com- 
ments. Fred bantered his cousin a little, or rather attempted 
it, when a certain hauteur prevented further intrusion. A 
dim suspicion crossed Richard’s mind. 


286 


IN TBUST, OR 


There was not much time to lose after breakfast Ulric 
said his adieus lightly, as he should soon meet them '.n the 
city. By an accident Lily stood quite apart, playing with u 
trailing vine that had fallen from its column. He went up 
to her quietly, standing with his back to the others, and 
quite hiding her. There had been a great conflict in the 
man’s mind. But for Daisy he would not have made even’ 
this advance. 

“Have you anything to say to me — Lily?” He swal- 
lowed a good deal of pride as he pronounced the name, 
sorely tempted as he was to call her Miss Bertrand. 

It was not a tone very inviting to penitence. Lily’s face 
flushed hotly, and her eyes fell beneath his steady gaze. 
She had persuaded herself that he was selfish and tyrannical. 
Neither did she feel sufl&cient need of his love to render her 
humble. 

“ Nothing.” The tone was low, but he heard it dis- 
tinctly. 

“ Very well. Perhaps it will be better to make no ex- 
planations until you return home. I will inform your 
brother.” 

She bowed indifferently. 0, how sweet, how winsome, 
she was, even now ! A word would have brought him back. 
She did not utter it, however, although she could not help 
feeling grateful that he should thus postpone the unpleasant 
announcement. 

Daisy kept her secret. Lily filled the two succeeding 
days with all the pleasure that could be crowded in tliem. 
She would not think. A bright life was before her, and she 
resolutely determined not to shadow it by any misgiving. 
Love was easy toVin. And yet she put something in her 
demeanor towards Fred that made him understand the real 
distance between them, and that his flatteries were as noth- 
ing in her eyes. He should not boast that she had broken 
her engagement on his account. 


DR. BEKTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


287 


Thr; excursion had been highly satisfactory, save to Lilj 
and Mr. Auchester. And she proudly persuaded herself 
thac she did not care. He fancied he felt truly thankful 
that the rupture had come so soon. Since she was un- 
worthy of his love, this wound, bitter as it was, could be 
endured, and was to be preferred to a lifetime of unhappi- 
ness. 


288 


IN TKU8T. OB 


CHAPTER XXX. 

O, Love ! unconquerable in the fight. Thee shall neither any jf the imt 
mortals escape, nor of men, the creatures of a day. 

Sophocles, Trans. 

So with this. 

The lines have under meanings, and the scene 
Of self-forgetfulness and indecision 
Breaks oflf, not ends. 

Festus. 

On his return to Rothelan, Richard was met by a letter 
from Mr. Auchester, announcing the fact of the broken 
engagement. He was too gentlemanly to indulge in any 
severe animadversions on Lily’s conduct, but simply stated 
the case, and gave Richard full credit for his foresight and 
good judgment. He allowed, in a most graceful manner, 
that he had been mistaken in regard to himself, as well as 
to Lily. 

The thought that he had predicted it ajBTorded Richard 
small satisfaction. The spirit of Mr. Auchester’s letter did 
not intimate that the disagreement was at all trifling, or to 
be easily overcome. He undertook to question Lily, but she 
was haughty, and not disposed to discuss the subject. He 
could not discern the slightest regret in her manner, and 
this set him at ease with regard to her. 

“ I don’t know what I could have been about for the last 
fortnight, not to see how matters were going,” he said, a 
little self-reproachfully. 

“ No, Dick,” Mabel returned, warmly, “ you shall not 
blame yourself for this. If I, who by right should have 
been most watchful, could not gain her confidence, or 


DR. Bertrand’s HODSEHOiiD. 


289 


influence her, the fault is clearly her own waywardness. Mr. 
Auchester has acted commendably throughout, and Lily has 
lost a regard she may never find again. I regret that this 
sorrow should fall upon him ; but she needs a lesson. She 
is too thoughtless and trifiing.” 

Philip took the affair more seriously. Like Daisy, he felt 
convinced they had loved each other. He held Mr. Auches- 
ter in the highest esteem, and scolded Lily roundly for 
coquetry. Yet this did not punish her as did Richard’s 
grave tones, and the implied condemnation in his eyes. 

Philip and Mabel insisted that Lily should remain at 
Rothelan. Indeed, the former cherished a hope that a 
reconciliation might yet be effected. Mrs. Suydam had 
gone directly to New York with the Auchesters, from whence 
in a few days they were to start for Virginia, while she was 
to shop, and prepare for the journey with her husband. 

Daisy agreed to the arrangement, for she felt Richard’s 
home would be happier without Lily. Her tender little heart 
questioned itself as to whether there was anything selfish in 
desiring his comfort above all else. 

The dear old house at Newark greeted them with a familiar 
welcome, as inanimate things often touch our hearts more 
closely than words. Daisy was soon settled in her former 
quiet life, after the rare holiday summer. Indeed, about ten 
days later, when Archie left them for a preparatory school, 
she found it necessary to make some effort to keep them 
from drifting into absolute loneliness. Yet she had never 
been happier. Lily’s first letter was so gay and good- 
humored that she read it aloud to Richard. 

She had been at home a fortnight, perhaps, when one even- 
ing Ann startled her by announcing that “Mr. Auchester 
was in the parlor, and wished to see her.” Richard had 
gone to pass a few hours with some medical friends ; so 
his entertainment devolved wholly upon her. With a flush 
on her face, and not a little nervousness at heart, she went 
down to him. 


25 


290 


IN TKTJST, OB 


“ I am so glad to see you ! ” was his first exclamation 
and taking both hands in his, he held them many seconds. 
“ Believe me that for days I have had an intense longing to 
see you, and hear your voice. I think I never knew weeks 
BO long in my whole life.” 

She covered her embarrassment by asking after his cousins 
and Mrs. Suydam. 

The Auchesters had left for Virginia. Mrs. Suydam had 
that day gone to Bothelan. 

“ I did not tell her until this afternoon,” he said, abruptly. 
“We walked up Broadway, and from thence over to the 
depot, and had a long conversation. I extorted a promise 
from her not to make Mrs. Gregory miserable by her disap- 
pointment.” 

“ Whatever pains you, must cause her sorrow,” Daisy 
said, absently. 

“ More than that, I think. It has interfered with her 
plans for me, and she was remarkably fond of — of Lily,” — 
he pronounced the name with an effort, — “ and feels more 
deeply grieved, perhaps, than the actors in the drama.” 

His tone at the last was indifferent. A long silence fell 
between them. 

“ I kept my promise to you,” he began, at length. “ I 
did give her an opportunity of making some slight con- 
cession ; but her manner then convinced me she had never 
truly loved me.” 

Daisy understood the feeling that prompted the use of 
pronouns. His heart was still sore, disguise it as he might 
Her finest sympathies were aroused. She could not withhold 
them ; in truth she did not wish to. 

“ I’m not sure but you will end by thinking me weak and 
cowardly,” he said, with a dreary smile. “ I know I ought 
not to linger over this episode. A brave man would tear 
it out of his heart at once, and go his way, making no 
sign. And, though hitherto in all matters I have troubled 
no one, it is a comfort to come to you when my restlessness 
becomes unendurable.” 


DK. BEKTEAND’s household. 


29 ^ 


“ Please believe that I want to be your friend,” Paisjj 
said, earnestly ; “ that I desire to share this sorrow with 
you, and hope — but she had no courage to utter her hope. 

“ Not that I shall go back to the old love, Daisyc Every 
day I realize how unwise it was. I feel astonished at myself 
for being so easily blinded. More than once, in the past 
fortnight, I have paused, and asked what strange glamour 
enchanted the Ulric Auchester of six months ago. For 
then he was cool, self-reliant, penetrating, and not very apt 
to err in his judgments.” 

“ Love ! ” Daisy answered, with a rare, sweet intonation. 
“ And why should you be ashamed ? Is not he who loves 
and suffers, a better man, if he bear his pain rightly, than he 
who dares not love for very fear ? ” 

“ Teach me how to bear it, for in your hands I seem a 
child.” 

“ I don’t know what I can teach you. Only, there are 
some dark days in every life, I think, when we seem to go 
down into a sepulchre of doubt, and in despair count the 
withered stems where we had looked for blossoms. But 
God’s angels roll away the stone at length, and we enter 
the garden once more. Does He not mean that by going 
carefully over the path, we may learn a lesson for all time 
to come ? ” 

“ Mine has been learned in a sharp, bitter fashion. Ex- 
perience is indeed a costly teacher. But 0, the weariness, 
the ‘ aching void ’ that it leaves behind ! ” 

She had passed through this fiery trial. Yet hers had 
been crude, unreasoning love, hot possessing sufficient 
stamina for development. His was not so. Some electric 
divination told her he was struggling against the grand pas- 
sion of his life ; and because he could not conquer it, he 
shut his eyes to its full force, tried to bury it out of his 
sight. If he had loved less truly, he might have denied it 
altogether ; now this was impossible. 

What should she say ? He would not admit the possibility 




IN iKtJST, OB 


of depth or truth in Lily. On this point he was wonderfully 
firm. He seemed to think he could have forgiven deliberate 
coquetry more easily than this childish trifling and vacilla- 
tion. And, though Daisy pleaded her cause with a sister’s 
earnestness, he met her arguments with simple truths, that 
she could not overcome. But it was little comfort to hafe 
Lily excused for following the inclinations of her natuie, 
when that very nature was proved shallow and insincere. 
Yet he did not so much allege these things against Lily, a:^ 
imply them ; therefore discussing the point was useless ; and 
not only that, but it served to strengthen him in his opinion. 

It was quite late when he left her, as for some time he had 
been making Bichard’s return an excuse for lingering. As 
they stood in the hall, she realized the change that had come 
over him. The glow and vivid life, that had lent such a 
charm to his fine face, were fast settling into a cold and 
bitter expression of weariness. Her tender pity shone out 
of her sweet eyes, and spoke in her soft voice. 

“Remember,” he said, “you have redeemed the whole 
race of women for me ; ” and kissing her forehead, he was 
gone. So profound was her sympathy for him that she saw 
no danger in the promise of friendship she had given. 

The next morning, at breakfast, Daisy mentioned Mr. 
Auchester’s visit. Richard smiled a little, but made no 
comment. 

For that, and several succeeding days, Daisy’s mind was 
continually busy with the lovers, as she still considered 
them. She had too much delicacy to mediate unless her 
services were absolutely required, and she could think of no 
emergency likely to arise. She, who had done so much 
patient waiting for herself, found this a hard burden to bear. 

Daisy was, perhaps, more surprised by Mr. Auchester’s 
second visit than by the first. It was only a few days later, 
and again he found her alone. Dinner had been finished, 
Richard called away on sudden business, and Tessy gone 
to spend a few hours with a schoolmate. 


DR. BERTRAJS'd’s HOUSEHOLD. 


293 


“ Well,’' he said, when she had excused them, “ I came 
chiefly to see you ; so I am quite satisfied.” 

She colored with some embarrassed feeling. 

“ Let us go and walk in the garden,” he continued. ‘‘ The 
approaching evening is too magnificent to be spent in doors. 
Such a grand sunset does not always come at one's bidding.’' 

They walked awhile, conversing pleasantly, and watching 
the dying day. The peculiar orange-red glow of autumn; 
the long, slant rays, like golden arrows tipped with flame ; 
tree and shrub burnished in bronze ; and the filmy purple 
dusk, that seemed like an undertone to the picture, lingering 
in corners and under leafy branches, gave a drowsy, shadowy 
light. A time for dreams or confidences, for tender talk or 
tenderer vows. 

They seated themselves on a rustic bench, at length, their 
hearts steeped in the wondrous beauty of the scene. Pres- 
ently Mr. Auchester said, — 

“ I have many things to tell you, grave little ‘ father con- 
fessor.’ Where shall I begin ? ” 

“ With the very first.” An arch smile lighted up her face 
as she said, “ Once upon a time ; ” but her heart beat with 
unwonted emotion. 

“I am going away — to Europe,” was his abrupt an- 
nouncement. 

“ 0 !” 

Something in the voice startled him, and the unfeigned 
sorrow of her sweet face thrilled him with a blinding sensa- 
tion, as if a new world had been opened. Thought and feel- 
ing rushed to a sudden dangerous centralization. 

“ Why do you go ? ” There was a perceptible cadence of 
disappointment in her tone. 

“ Mostly for the change, I think. I find my summer’s ex- 
perience has bequeathed me some bad habits — a restless, 
impatient dissatisfaction that I cannot dismiss or conquer; 
a something that tempts mo^to dream idle dreams, and seek 
vain speculations. As Alice will be away for a long while, 1 
25 ’^ 


294 


IN TRUST, OR 


should certainly bore you to death. To save you from 
trouble, and myself from a desultory, aimless existence, I 
have accepted the position of private secretary to the Hon 
Mr. — — , minister to Russia.” 

“ 0, I am so sorry ! ” and then Daisy checked herself. 

“ Are you ? After all, what does it matter ? ” was hia 
moody reply. 

“ When shall you go ? ” 

“ I do not know yet. Not for some weeks, I fancy. I 
should not have sought the opportunity, for I came home 
last winter quite tired of roving. Besides being somewhat 
acquainted with the new minister, my knowledge of the coun- 
try and the language has so fitted me for the position, in his 
estimation, that he insists upon my taking it. The change 
and the active life will be a great benefit to me.” 

Daisy gave words to her thoughts, unconsciously. 

“ What will Lily say ? ” 

“ My dearest friend, dismiss the subject from your mind. 
Nothing I could do would be of the slightest importance to 
her. She is perfectly free to follow her inclinations ; so am 
I. And since mine lead me into exile, so be it — who will 
care ? ” 

“ I care,” Daisy said, bravely. “ This faithless, half- 
scornful manner pains me. It is not worthy of your man- 
hood.” 

He rose and walked up and down the short path before 
her, his eyes downcast, his arms folded over his breast. 
What a singular power this child woman possessed ! Her 
words penetrated to the depths of his being; roused, calmed, 
strengthened ; seemed to challenge the very truth of his 
soul — to tear away the veil from every insincere thought. 
How lovely she was in her pure womanhood, the honor and 
perfect honesty of her nature ! Surely such companionship 
would bestow new life ; her truth strengthen his world-weary 
spirit; her love revivify the bruised and drooping fendrih 
of his heart, that stood sorely in need of repose, support. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


296 


He paused, glanced into the sweet face, and standing with 
the outward calmness of a statue, the better to sustain his 
self-control, he said, slowly, but with deep emphasis, — 

“ Listen, Daisy. I know what I am about to say will sur- 
prise you. It surprises me. And yet I shall utter it, feel- 
ing in my heart that it is a solemn truth. I love you. I 
think yours is rightly the nature to mate with mine. You 
are so restful, so patient, gentle without weakness, firm with- 
out obstinacy, and above all, so true. The feverish passion 
of the past summer has led me to analyze my own heart more 
closely. I need a woman who will take the trouble to study 
me a little. If I am unjust or exacting in requiring this, 
forgive me. 0,1 never thought to be such a suppliant ; yet 
I, a proud man, sue to you willingly, cheerfully, for a little 
love. It is the great ffeed of my life. One may scoff at the 
fact, and attempt to disbelieve it, hut I think one never does 
wholly. It is a powerful law of a man’s nature to love, to 
desire to he loved in return. And though you may fancy 
me weak and fickle, it is not so in reality. I loved an ideal 
in Lily ; my ideal perished : what remains ? Only the fact 
of a man’s capability of regard, of love in its highest, holiest 
sense. And so firmly do I believe this, that I only ask you to 
trust me now. Give me years of probation, if you like ; they 
will seem to me only as days in the light of my great hope. 
Daisy, say that you do not despise me ; that in time, when 1 
have redeemed my birthright, you will love me.” 

He still stood before her. Although he had not spoken 
rapidly, interruption on her part would have been quite im- 
possible. Surprise at first kept her silent, then distress 
What should she do ? what could she say ? 

Do not blame him too severely. All the great passions 
and sacrifices of life are followed by reaction in a greater or 
less degree. Many a man from pique, wounded love, or 
honestly thinking himself mistaken in the woman he first 
sought, has, in a moment of disappointment, chosen her op- 
posite. Auchester’s first emotion, after the rupture with 


296 


IN TRUST, OR 


Lily, had been extreme satisfaction. But the reliet was 
soon followed by a yearning for some hope akin to the one 
he had lost. He would have been too proud to throw him- 
self upon any woman’s sympathy, even if distrust and really 
superior penetration had not rendered him a little suspicious. 
But all through his acquaintance with Lily, he had admired 
Daisy, and given her a high regard. The confidence, on that 
unfortunate evening at Catskill, established a still stronger 
tie between them. And now the desire of having some one 
to care for him when he would be far away in his new home, 
operated powerfully upon his feelings. In his present state 
her regard seemed to promise rest and peace, and it was 
worth an effort. 

“ I have offended you,” he said, at length, seeing she did 
not speak. 

“No, not offended.” She motioned him to a seat beside 
her. Then, clasping her hands in her lap, she went on, with 
sad earnestness : “ But I am sorry you said it. I could be 
your friend always, yet I cannot love you as you desire. I 
believe you have made a great mistake. I think you still 
love Lily — that she still loves you.” 

Her fearless manner startled him. Yet he made a little 
gesture of contempt as he returned, bitterly, — 

“ Even if you are right, what would it avail ? I cannot sue 
to Lily. I may have been wrong in many things, hasty at 
times, but God knows how patient I strove to be. I have 
no word to take back. Since she gave the offence and tri- 
umphed in it, does it seem likely to you that she will repent ? 
Humility is not one of her characteristics. And the terms 
on which we stood were simply unendurable. It would make 
me wretched to accept them again. So you see a renewal 
of the engagement, without a radical change in one or both, 
would only bring misery. Do nat think of it, Daisy; it cai; 
never be.” 

“ Let us wait,” she said, with a little sigh. 

“ I am willing to wait. Do not think I ask for your lov< 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


297 


LOW. I only want some hope to take with me, so that the 
world will not be quite a desert. When time heals all wounds^ 
and makes the tangled paths straight, I hope to prove myself 
worthy of you. For the present we will correspond, and you 
will see I can be both generous and patient. 0 Daisy, love 
has been bitter to me in the past ; but I firmly believe you 
can make my future bright. I know you will not fail me ; 
and in time to come I will answer for myself.” 

It was a cruel strait for Daisy. Her unwillingness to give 
pain, her deep sympathy, the thought that by refusing her 
friendship she effectually broke the tie between him and 
Lily, filled her heart with anxious and troubled emotions. 
More than this, she saw the great risk she ran of being mis- 
understood. She felt how impossible it was to love him. 
But she could give no satisfactory reason. It was rather 
one of those inevitable conclusions which force themselves 
upon the mind, and flash out of being all logical deductions. 

He took her unresisting hand, and went on pleading his 
case eloquently. 

“ 0, please don’t ! ” she said, in a voice of pitiful entreaty. 
“ I will be your friend ; I will write, if you desire it ; but 
more than this I cannot promise. I am sorry to give you 
pain, but better pain now, than disappointment in the end.” 

“ I am content to leave the case to the future. Friend- 
ship is all I ask at present. And now shall I tell you some- 
thing about my appointment ? ” 

She caught at the change eagerly, yet unwittingly she 
gave him , great advantage. 

Still she was troubled about the promise she had given, 
and, after he left her, waited some time for Bichard. She 
fancied at the moment that she had sufficient courage to ask 
liis opinion and advice. 


298 


IN TBUST, OR 


CHAPTEK XXXI. 

How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes ? 

As You Like It. 

I cannot but remember such things were, 

That were most precious to me. 

Macbeth. 

If Daisy could have looked into Richard’s heart, her light 
slumber would have been still more disturbed. 

He had returned quite early, and not finding her in the 
house, sought her in the garden, as it was still light. These 
quiet hours with her had become an intense delight to him. 
Not dreaming of a visitor, he hastened down the path. A 
ro\v of syringas screened the bench on which she and Mr. 
Auchester sat ; so he caught the sound of their voices before 
he saw tlioin. He could not mistake the import. Clear 
and decisive the wmrds rang through his brain: “ I know 
you will not fail me, and in time to come I will answer for 
myself.” He waited in almost deathly silence for her to 
speak. Above the murmurous voice of the wind, above the 
:astle of the trees, he heard the beating of his own heart. 
What was her answer ? Kisses, caresses, and whispere 1 
words? He turned awa}’ sick and faint, and lost what might 
have comforted him. 

Retracing his steps mechanically, he passed through the 
hall, the little court-yard, and into the street, hardly noticing 
whither he went, so long as the place was unfrequented- 
He wanted to look his future in the face, for he saw clearly 
how it wms with himself. His soul was unveiled. Instead 
of having buried hope and desire in the grave of a first dis- 


BR. Bertrand’s household. 


299 


appointment, lie found them here in their eternal frejhness, 
their entire strength. He loved Daisy. How or when this 
latter passion had dawned upon him in all the solemn surety 
of truth, broader, deeper, richer than the other, and com- 
prehending every want of his life, he could never tell. All 
minor dreams and affections had been overswept by this. 
Leaving behind youthful crudeness and evanescent foelings 
that he had once fancied must be permanent, his heart had 
reached the point where manhood’s love caused it to throb 
with a pure and steady faith. This had come upon him so 
gradually that no struggle had occurred, no scruples had 
disturbed him. Sailing blindly over the summer sea of life, 
the deep, swift, rushing waters of a “too late” cut him off 
from the main land, and sent him drifting down a darker 
stream. Another had garnered the sweet flower he had 
transplanted from its ungenial soil, and caused to blossom 
in rare beauty. Another, who had all the world to choose 
from ! 

He was a man, and at flrst felt wronged, outraged. Jeal- 
ousy gave a flerce tug at his heart. A certain strength and 
sense of power lured him on to the resolve of contesting the 
prize with Mr. Auchester. Surely he had a right to be 
heard. He could not give her up — his all, his second life. 
Every moment she grew dearer. He had never dreamed of 
loving in this intense manner, and every pulse quivered with 
the power of his emotion. 

But what if Daisy loved Mr. Auchester ? He remem- 
bered how from the very first she had admired and approved 
of him. He was eminently attractive. And Kichard allowed 
that he had proved himself not unwise by choosing her. If 
he could win her back, if from any sense of obligation, any 
thought of gratitude, she gave him her regard, would it 
satisfy him ? No, no. He spurned the thought. Love, 
spontaneous, above all doubt or question, must be his. 
This only could he place upon the throne in his heart. 

And the future ? He shrank from it with a pain so deep, 


800 


IN TKUST, OK 


that, strong man as he was, he could hardly refrain from 
crying out that his burden was greater than he could bear. 
Wherein had he failed, that to him should continually be 
given solitary places to walk through, when his heart yearned 
for home joys, home faces, and tenderest tones ? Every 
hope was swept away with this, every sweet dream that had 
unconsciously rendered life so bright. For when he came 
t3 disentangle the rosy web that had floated over him for 
months past, he found every thread was intimately con- 
nected with Daisy. How cold and gray it looked without 
her ! 

He rambled on in a vague, purposeless mood, until he 
heard the city clocks strike the hour of midnight. He could 
have prayed for the night and darkness to be eternal. Since 
the sweetest day of life had passed for him, what comfort 
could a new sunrise bring ? The glory of all time had faded 
utterly out of his pathway. 

He had said so once before, and proved — what? That 
a new afi’ection could blossom over the ashes of the old. 
Would it be so again? Was this faculty of transferring 
feelings something inherent in a man’s nature ? 

Not with such a love as this. He had come to manhood’s 
full tide. Daisy met every want of his nature. The pas- 
sion was the more absorbing, perhaps, because daily he 
gathered sweetness and strength from her in some subtle, 
indescribable manner. She gave continually out of hei 
overflowing heart. She was peace, serenity. This was 
what he longed for now. Contrasting the two, his first love 
seemed only to have touched the surface ; this penetrated 
the holy of holies, and became, as I have said, a part of his 
very life. 

He came back at last to the shadow of home — the home 
that might have been so happy. How still and desolate ! 
As if every leafy tree had a presentiment, as if the shadows 
lying so thickly around robed themselves in a deeper gloom. 
And going down the empty-handed years, there would at 


DB. BEBTBAND’s HOTTSEHOLB. 


801 


length be no happy voice to bid him welcome — no tendei 
eyes to smile upon him. Already the chill of loneliness 
made itself felt in every nerve. It seemed as if a fair dead 
corse was lying there to confront him evermore. 

Eichard wrestled till daybreak. It might be that he, too, 
refused to let the angel go until he blessed him. At all 
events, he was calm, and his face had a high, saintly look, 
his voice an inflection of rarest sadness that startled Daisy. 
In order to strengthen himself, he delicately put a slight, 
nameless distance between them, resolved to be just to hei 
if every step crushed his own heart. 

Daisy tried to talk a little. She thought she had a great 
deal to say about Mr. Auchester’s proposed departure, but 
she did not get beyond a few incidents connected with the 
fact. Drawing a long and desperate breath, she ventured to 
ask, timidly, — 

“ How do you suppose Lily will take it ? ” 

“ Do not distress yourself. He can never again be any- 
thing to Lily, you know,” he answered, decisively. 

Why should she suddenly thrill with her old fear of Eich- 
ard ? The solid ground seemed slipping from beneath her 
feet. Those past days of pain and desolation flashed over 
her — days when she felt he might justly be angry with her. 
Since then, how deep a tenderness she had discovered in 
that grave face I What made it cold, even to sternness, 
now ? She wanted to grasp him, cling to him ; yet some 
strong barrier interposed. She was pained to the heart, 
ivhen at length he rose, and went out silently. 

It was a long, wearisome day. No tangible grievance 
only when she heard him enter the house, and then leave, it 
without seeking her, she sat still and cold, as if stunned by 
some unforeseen blow. The day before she would have run 
down for a kiss. He noticed the omission, and fancied 
there was only one cause to which it could be ascribed, 
this gave him courage to proceed with his resolve. 

Daisy made an effort to appear cheerful at dinner, and he 
26 


802 


IN TKXJBT, OR 


My assisted her. Tessy’s unclouded mood was a relief to 
both. Afterwards, when she took her sewing, and sat on 
the balcony, he brought an unfinished book, and read aloud 
Once he fancied she was inattentive, and said, — 

“ Does this weary you ? ” 

“ 0, no.” Then she colored, and looked embarrassed. 

He kissed both girls good night before going out, and 
Daisy, who had been counting on a few moments alone with 
him, felt sadly disappointed. 

Yet she was enabled to explain all this satisfactorily to 
herself the next day, and terrible as the reality was, experi- 
enced a sense of relief. Diehard had been called out quite 
early in the morning, and breakfast passed without him. A 
feeling of apprehension almost stifled Daisy. What had she 
done to offend him ? or was it possible that, in thinking 
over their relative positions, his heart shrank from giving 
her so much trust, so much love, and he was about to estab- 
lish a new order of things ? 

She went to market with Mrs. Hall, and lingered in the 
stores buying some pretty trifles for Tessy. During her 
absence Diehard had come and gone. Then, she tried to 
interest herself in preparations for dinner ; but everything 
seemed hard work. 

“ What an odd-looking note, to be sure,” said Ann, inter- 
cepting her in the hall. 

Daisy glanced at it. “ Why, it is a telegram for the doc- 
tor. Some one at a distance must be ill,” was her exclama- 
tion. 

Hearing Diehard at the door, she advanced to meet him. 
He smiled, but did not kiss her. 

“This came for you a moment ago,” she said, handing 
him the missive. 

He took it with an absent air, broke the seal, and at the 
first glance a deep groan escaped him. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Daisy, in alarm. 

He held it before her without a word. She read, — 


DK. Bertrand’s household. 


303 


^ “ RoTiiELAN, October lo. 

“ Lily has been thrown from her horse, and brought home 
insensible. Come immediately. We fear the worst.” 

It seemed so natural then that he should draw Daisy ten- 
derly to his heart, forget his resolves, and all that he had 
seen and heard ! She was so glad to pillow her head on its 
phi resting-place, though she trembled violently ! 

“ God help us all to bear it,” he said, solemnly, after 
many minutes of silence. “ It pains me to leave you alone 
in such anxiety, but it must be done. I will send you word 
at every opportunity. Our dear, bright, beautiful Lily ! 0, 
I pray fervently it may not be as Philip expects ! ” Then 
looking at his watch, he continued : “ I have scarcely another 
second to lose.” 

He did not release her, however, but walked into the 
office with his arm over her shoulder. As for her, she 
seemed to realize, in some indistinct way, that the storm 
brooding over them had at length broken. It may be that 
she hardly understood Lily’s imminent danger. And yet 
hers was no selfish sentiment. It only seemed as if for the 
last twenty-four hours they had expected some terrible 
event to occur, and its coming had brought a positive relief. 
The shock restored Richard to his former self, and that was 
all she could ask at present. His farewell was necessarily 
brief, and though sad, its tenderness comforted her inex- 
pressibly. 

When she came to explain the matter to Tessy, she felt it 
much more keenly. Her voice was choked with sobs. The 
linner, the dessert of cream that she had taken so much 
pains with, passed almost untasted. Tessy clung to her in 
wildest apprehension, and the two mingled their tears to- 
gether. 

“ Mr. Auchester ! ” Ann announced, on her return from 
answering the door bell. 

Daisy bathed her face and added a few feminine toucheg 


804 


IN TEtJST, OH 


to her dress, kissed Tessy foudly, and taking the teiegruu 
in her hand, crossed to the parlor. 

Mr. Auchester rose to greet her with a cordial smile. 

“ What has occurred ? ” he asked suddenly, remarking hei 
paleness and agitation. 

She could not trust her voice, and merely handed him 
the note. Neither did she look up to watch the effect it 
produced. , 

There was first one of those almost deathly silences. 
Then he uttered a despairing cry, whose wild pathos un- 
nerved her. 

“ My Grod ! Lily dying ! dead, perhaps ! Never, never 
again to see her in this life ! ’’ 

A sickening agony, a constriction of throat, of muscles, 
of very heart, seemed strangling him, and obeying a vehe- 
ment impulse, he paced the floor hurriedly. Daisy saw that 
he was moved by the strongest emotion that could possess 
and conquer a man. It had conquered him. He had met 
the truth face to face in his path, and he was far too hon- 
orable to thrust it aside. The mortification it might cause 
did not now disturb him. It was the most passionate, ten- 
derest regret, akin to that of Mary when she said, “ Lord, 
if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” If he 
had been there, if he had not relinquished the right of 
watching over Lily, of guiding in some degree her pleasures, 
her varying, impetuous moods, there would now remain the 
kindred right of going to her. Instead, he was barred out. 
His only privilege would be gazing on her cold, waxen face, 
when the sweet lips had passed the shore of speech. He 
knew now how beyond everything he had loved her. 

He came back to Daisy presently, his face rigid and ashy 
pale. “ I don’t know what to say,” he began, in a husky 
tone ; “ indeed, there is nothing I can say in extenuation of 
my conduct. For the last fortnight I have been wilfully, 
perversely blind. And yet, although I have forfeited your 
respect, I ask, as a favor, that you will believe it was from 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


306 


Qo petty spite or pique that I sought to forget my attachment 
to Lily in another. For the time, I honestly believed I had 
ceased to care for her. Only some sudden blow like this 
could have startled me into the truth. I have been worse 
than weak — wicked.” 

“ No, no,” she interrupted ; “ I absolve you from all wrong 
intention. I read you better than you knew yourself, and 
am now, and for all time, your friend.” 

‘‘ Daisy, you are an angel ! All that is true, and noble, 
and pure in womanhood, centres in you. I, who have hith- 
erto been so proud of my strength, my resolves, my cool 
judgment, stand humbled and rebuked before you. 0, how 
can I ever atone ? ” 

“ No atonement is needed,” she said, simply. “ It was a 
mistake.” 

“ I thank God, from the depth of my heart, that you did 
not give me your love when I pleaded for it. If to the rest 
was added a consciousness that I had betrayed your kind 
heart, my burden would be bitter indeed. This exhibition 
of irrepressible feeling cannot have surprised you more than 
it surprises myself.” 

He took both hands in his, and looked directly into her 
eyes - — calm, pitying, not the eyes of love or disappoint- 
ment. His face crimsoned from a sense of shame. She 
ended his embarrassment by saying, frankly, — 

“ I shall not go back from my promise, neither can I 
allow you. Whatever may be the issue in Lily’s case, our 
friendship remains a fact.” 

He shivered with dread at the terrible vision haunting 
him. When he could command his voice, he answered, — 

“ Thank you. I do not deserve this considea^atic 'w at youi 
hands, but how deeply I appreciate it no words of mine can 
explain. I have suffered much in the past month, and there 
may be a keener pang in store for me. To think of Lily 
bright and happy without me, can be borne ; but to know 
she is lying in the cold grave, shut away from the home and 
26 ^^ 


806 


IN TRUST, OR 


friends she delighted in, mouldering in unconsciousness, 
while the whole earth is beautiful and joyous, is terrible.” 

“ God may deal tenderly with us,” she returned, a confi- 
dent faith lingering in her tones. She could not believe 
Lily would die. Whether it was because of the suddenness 
of the event, so difficult for the mind to take in, or a higher 
and more triumphant faith, she scarcely knew. As Mr. 
Auchester listened, he felt comforted, strengthened. His 
regard for her grew into reverence. 

Another day passed, and another. Lily was still alive, 
but unconscious. A third with the same dreadful suspense, 
the same agonizing fear. 0, what prayers went up to 
heaven for the dear girl, so precious to them all, in spite 
of her waywardness. Mr. Auchester came every day to 
hear. Still, he did not indulge in any fallacious hope in 
regard to Lily. In truth, if he could have at that moment 
knelt beside her, and asked back her love, it may be that he 
would not have done it. Forgiveness, tenderness, sympathy, 
these would have been his offerings ; but love once outraged 
and trampled upon, held its own way with a kind of royal 
pride. 

At length came a gleam of hope. The daily telegrams 
had been necessarily brief ; so a letter was quite a luxury to 
Daisy. There had been, in the first hours of restored con- 
sciousness, imminent danger of fever ; but, this happily avert- 
ed, Richard spoke hopefully of the case. Mabel was quite 
worn down with anxiety ; and as he expected to return the 
next day, he asked Daisy to come up in the morning, and re- 
main, until some further improvement took place, with Lily. 
Mrs. Hall or Martin would accompany her to New York. 

Lily had been riding with Mr. Joslyn on the morning of 
the accident. Her horse, usually gentle enough, had started 
suddenly, reared, and thrown her at the instant. The smooth 
surface of the rock on which her head had struck pro- 
duced outwardly a severe bruise, and internally an injury, 
from which the gravest consequences were at first appre- 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


307 


bended. As Ilichard spoke of the hopeless days and nights 
they had all endured, when Lily’s life seemed hanging on the 
slenderest thread, Daisy’s heart throbbed with the deepest 
emotion. 

The tidings were grateful to Mr. Auchester. During his 
evening call, Daisy gave him the letter to read, and deli- 
cately busied herself with some trifle, that she might not 
libsfrve how it affected him. 

If you will allow me the pleasure of escorting you in 
the morning, I shall be most happy,” he said, when he had 
finished. 

Daisy signified her willingness. 

“ Poor Lily ! ” and he sighed. “ May she be wiser and 
happier in time to come. I suppose you have no idea how 
long you may remain at Pothelan ? ” 

“ Some weeks, doubtless. You see Dr. Bertrand does not 
anticipate a very rapid recovery.” 

“ Will you write to me occasionally, Daisy ? I have no 
other mode of hearing.” 

“ With pleasure ; ” and Daisy’s face brightened. 

He remarked it. “ Don’t misunderstand me, please,” he 
began, gravely. “ While I confess to you that I cannot at 
present dismiss all interest in Lily, — do not care to, in fact, — 
you must accept the situation as it is. I shall go to Europe 
shortly. Thus sundered by the ocean as well as our own 
wills, it is hardly likely that we shall ever meet again. It 
must be my continual study to forget. I am glad human 
nature is so constituted.” 

“ 0 Ulric ! ” she exclaimed, — almost the first time she 
bad used his Christian name, — “you tempt me to make my 
favor conditional. Why should you and Lily, who could 
be so happy together, shadow each other’s lives in this 
fashion ? ” 

“ I am not convinced that we could render each othei 
happy,” he returned, coldly. 

“ And yet you love Lily ? ” 


808 


IN TKUST, OK 


“ The time has passed when I could den^ such a thing to 
you, my sweet questioner. But my love is not all that is 
needed for complete happiness.” 

“ And if Lily repented, regretted that painful past, loved 
you — what then ? ” 

His eyes drooped under her fearless gaze. 

“Daisy, you are wild!” he said, vehemently. “Your 
love for us both leads you astray.” 

“ No, it is rather your blindness. If one word from Lily 
can restore peace, will you not grant her another opportu- 
nity ? 0,1 beseech you, for her sake, for your own 1 ” 

He was deeply moved by her earnestness. 

“ Lily will not say even that one word. Forgive me, 
Daisy, if I cannot bring my mind to sue where I have been 
trifled with, not once, but many times.” 

“ I shall never ask you to sue to her. She gave the 
offence, and unless she repents truly, I have no desire to see 
you take up the old life. But in the days that are to come, 
when Lily will have long hours for remembrance, her heart 
may soften. She may discover how much she did love, how 
much she still loves you. She may be ready to make any 
concession,” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ May I send for you then, if she wishes it ? ” 

“ Daisy 1 ” His voice had a quivering sound, as if it came 
over a sob. 

“ You will grant me this,” she pleaded. “ Your happiness 
is so dear to me that I think you may trust me not to ship- 
wreck it. I shall have better opportunities than any one 
ftlse of learning the state of Lily’s heart. I ask you only to 
accept your own happiness.” 

“ 0, child,” he said, “ you hardly know what you are un- 
dertaking. I cannot believe. It will never, never be.” 

“ But if it should come ! If in those hours of solitude 
Lily’s heart should send up a yearning prayer for what she 
has so heedlessly cast away, you will be pitiful, you will 
answer ! ” 


DK. Bertrand's household. 


309 


There was a long silence. His breath came rapidly. Ilia 
whole frame trembled in the powerful contest. The clinched 
fingers, white and almost bloodless, indented deeply into his 
hand ; yet he felt no pain. 

“ Daisy,” he said, at length, in a slow, faltering voice, 
“ you have conquered. I put my heart, my very life in your 
keeping. I dare not hope, but I will wait. Yet remember, 
it must be Lily’s desire solely. No influence must be brought 
to boar upon her. If of her own free will she expresses sor- 
row, regrets the past, and can so far put aside pride as to 
acknowledge this to me, I will come. If not, do not grieve 
unnecessarily for me. I shall bear all the rest with the cour- 
age of a man, and never again pain you by an unworthy 
weakness. O, my darling friend, how much you have been 
to me ! ” 

They clasped hands silently at their parting. And on the 
morrow his deferential tenderness had in it the highest 
respect, the most perfect confldence. Daisy little guessed, 
when she left him at the New York depot, how long he stood 
watching after the cars were in motion. 


310 


IN TKUPT, OX 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 


There are inscriptione on our hearts which are never to be seen except a1 
dead low tide. Bulwer. 


I thought I held in my hot hand my life crushed up : I could have tost 
The crumpled riddle from me, and laughed loud to think what I had lostc 
A bitter strength was in my mind j like Samson, when she scorned him — blind. 

Owen Meredith. 


\ 


It was a lovely autumn day, and Daisy found no incident 
to disturb her journey. She had hardly risen from her seat 
when they arrived at the station, before she caught sight of 
Richard’s face, as it passed the car window. And then she 
was welcomed with a smile that said so much. 

“ You asked Martin to bring you to the depot, I hope ?” 
he said, as he was handing her into the carriage. 

“ No, for a better attendant offered. How is Lily ? ” 

“Very comfortable. If fever doesn’t set in, she will do 
nicely. But the anxiety has told a good deal upon Bel, 
though I suppose baby made it worse for her. Alice has 
thriven beautifully. I am so glad you could come.” 

“ You have all been so kind to me that it is a pleasure tc 
find myself useful.” 

It was gratitude that spoke then, he thought, and a desire 
to render favor for favor. Then they talked of the accident, 
and how it had fared with Lily. Richard was pleased to see 
her looking so bright and well, and though the old pang 
smote his heart, he put it resolutely away, and was cheerful. 
She, glad to find him so like the Richard she best loved, and 
not being pained by coldness, forgot the brief hours that had 
been so terrible to her. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 311 

Mabel’s welcome was fond and sisterly. Baby Alice had 
grown almost out of recollection, but soon made friends. The 
change in Lily was greater than Daisy had dreamed of. At 
the first glance she did indeed seem dead. Besides the gray 
pallor, her face had a wan, pinched look ; the lips, always so 
brilliant and laughing, were rigid and ashen-hued ; and every 
feature contracted, as if with intense suffering. 

There would not be much to do. To sit and watch that no 
change might take place without due observation, give her a 
little nourishment or medicine, keep the room dark and 
quiet, were all the instructions Daisy received. Except that 
for herself she was to spend two hours out of doors every 
day, and be occasionally relieved by Mabel, so the confine- 
ment should not become tiresome. 

She could not decide at first whether Lily recognized her 
or not. The poor child slept almost continually, or looked 
about with vacant, staring eyes, and seldom uttered a word. 
Daisy was, if possible, more shocked than by the announce- 
ment of the accident. Bichard left them that afternoon, 
promising to be up in a few days, or if any change for the 
worse occurred, he was to be sent for immediately. 

For a week there was not much perceptible improvement 
in Lily. Yet nature was silently and powerfully awakening 
the dormant strength and energy. She began to talk a lit- 
tle, evince a desire for certain dishes of food, and show her 
pleasure when any one entered the room. Bichard made 
them all joyful by pronouncing her recovery certain. Daisy, 
watchful and tranquil, kept her place without a sign of fa- 
tigue. Once in three or four days she wrote to Mr. Auches- 
ter ; but the subject so near both hearts was never touched 
upon. 

When her amendment became positive, Lily’s youth and 
good constitution made it rapid. They were astonished to 
see how she gained daily. The deathly paleness vanished ; 
her eyes grew lustrous ; the old dazzling smile came back ; 
and little petulances, so like Lily, announced a return of 
her proper self. 


812 


IN TRUST, OR 


Mr. Joslyn was most devoted. Choice fruits were sent 
over, such as could only have been obtained by a journey to 
the city, Daisy well knew. Rarest flowers, calls, not only 
from him, but from his mother and sisters, who evinced the 
«varmest interest in Lily. It gave Daisy a strange, painful 
presentiment. She learned from Mabel that he had been 
Lily’s constant attendant since her return from the Catskills. 

“ It has troubled me much,” Mabel said ; “ but Philip 
judged wisely, that thwarting her would only make her the 
more resolute, and perhaps lead her to accept Mr. Joslyn. 
lie insists that she really loves Mr. x\uchester.” 

Daisy experienced a sudden impulse to conflde her secret 
to Mabel. But she knew that under some circumstances it 
ought never to pass her lips, and refrained. 

And then one day an unaccountable change came over 
Lily. She appeared well as usual in the morning, but by 
noon had grown strangely restless. Daisy questioned her 
gently, but received most unsatisfactory replies, and for the 
remainder of the day, Lily bestowed the merest monosyllables 
upon her attendant. There was, withal, a visible impatience, 
mixed with a sort of sullen resolve to bear alone whatever 
oppressed her. It pained Daisy, and gave her no little un- 
easiness, when she found that Lily had a fever for several 
hours, and not the slightest desire for her supper. 

“ If you would try some of these grapes,” suggested 
Daisy; “or a piece of the pine-apple, which is a great rarity 
at this season.” 

“ I wish you would take it all away,” said Lily, fretfully. 
“ I’m not worth that trouble to any one. And if you’ll stay 
down stairs, and let me be quiet, I think I can go to sleep.” 

Poor Daisy ! For the last two hours she had been read- 
ing, and scarcely stirred, lest Lily might feel herself watched. 
But in spite of the quiet, even at nine in the evening, Lily’s 
voice had a wakeful sound, and her eyes were heavy, with 
purple shadows underneath. Something had gone wrong 
Daisy vainly tried to And a cause for offence. 


DK. Bertrand’s household. 


dib 

Eichard came up the next morning. After asking Lily a 
few questions, he sought Daisy. 

“Were there any visitors in yesterday to see Lily ?” he 
inquired. 

“ No.” 

“ She sat up too long, or talked too much. I find her 
feverish and in a very irritable state.” 

“ Not from either of those causes,” replied Daisy. “ She 
only sat up once yesterday, — hardly an hour, — and was un- 
usually quiet. Yet I noticed she had some fever.” 

“ Strange ! ” was Eichard’s grave remark. “ She has the 
appearance of being strongly excited or annoyed. Has she 
worried about anything ? ” 

“Not outwardly. I tried to learn the cause of her dis- 
quietude, but in vain.” . 

“ See if you can win it from her. I am afraid it will re- 
tard her recovery.” 

Then their eyes met, and both colored with a conscious 
knowledge, though each was wrong as to the cause in the 
other. 

“ Never mind,” he continued, hurriedly. “ Don’t distress 
yourself. If Lily will indulge in unreasonable moods without 
the slightest cause, she ought to bear the penalty alone. I 
am sorry for her, but the fault is not in the slightest degree 
yours. Have Bel and the baby up here frequently, and don’t 
seem to notice her.” 

Even if Daisy had been so minded, she could have learned 
nothing from Lily, who was, if possible, more reticent, and 
i ertainly more miserable, every hour. Her fever increased. 

Late on the following day Mr. Joslyn brought a beautiful 
bouquet. He kept Daisy for some time in the hall, talking to 
her. As soon as released, she ran up stairs. 

“ Are they not lovely ? ” and she held them before Lily. 
“A Cape jasmine, and some orange blossoms. Will the 
odor be too strong if I leave them in here a while ? ” 

“1 don’t want them ! Take them away! And I wish- 
27 


314 


IN TRUST, OB 


Mr. Joslyn wouldn’t bring any more,” said Lily, with flushed 
face and contracted brow. 

“ Well,” was Daisy’s quiet rejoinder. Placing them in 
the adjoining apartment, she lingered, a while. When she 
returned Lily was in tears. 

“ Have I distressed you ? ” she asked, in a tender tone. 

“No.” 

Lily winked away the tears resolutely, and crowded down 
a great sob, that seemed like a ball of ^e in her throat. 
Then she suddenly turned her face, and said, ♦in a half- 
smothered, passionate manner, — 

“ 0, I don’t know what to do ! I am so wretched ! \ Why 
couldn’t I have died in that fearful time ! They had no hope 
for me, and I shouldn’t have suffered any pang of separation. 
But to live this dreary, dreary life ! ” 

“ Why should it be dreary, Lily ? ” 

“ I can’t reason ; I never could. I only know it is” 

“ When you are well enough to go out, you will feel dif- 
ferently about it.” 

“ I don’t want to go out. If I could stay here forever, 
and see no one but you, and Bel, and Bichard, it wouldn’t be 
so hard ! ” 

“ Dear Lily, God has seen fit to bring you through a great 
peril, and surely He will send nothing that will not be for 
your good.” 

“ Do you believe He sends everything ? Doesn’t it seem 
rather as if He sometimes let people go plunging into all 
sorts of wrong and trouble, until ‘ they stick fast in the mire, 
whore no ground is’? And then everything becomes so 
dreary, so dreary ! ” 

“ They cried unto the Lord, in the days of the Psalmist.” 

“ If that was all, I could find it in my heart to cry con- 
tinually. But I don’t know how to turn in this world. 
Everywhere a face meets me. I cannot hide away from it. 
And because I have been so wrong, and find myself all tan- 
gled up in such a web, — if I could go out of life quietly — ” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


816 


Daisy’s heart beat with high hope. She made an effort to 
steady her voice, and said, slowly, — 

“ God has some work for you still to do — some happiness 
for you yet to enjoy. With Him all things are possible.” 

“ But I can’t undo anything. I was so wild, so utterly 
thoughtless ! I don’t know what possessed me, unless it was 
an evil spirit. But I did not mean — ” and her voice failed 
through weeping. 

Daisy kissed her tenderly. 

“Has Mr. Joslyn been here every day?” she asked, at 
length. 

“ Yes.” 

Daisy hesitated a little, not feeling quite sure of her 
ground. 

“ He sent the flowers. I heard him talking to you. And 
he has sent many things. 0, I wish I had never seen him!” 

Daisy scarcely knew what comment to make. 

“ What has he said about the accident ? ” 

“ He feels sadly distressed. He told me, one morning, he 
knew the blame ought all to rest upon him. No one rejoices 
more at your recovery:” 

“ He is so good ! But it wasn’t his fault. May I tell you, 
Daisy ? Perhaps .1 shall feel better after I have talked it 
over. I don’t know how I came to tell him that the affair 
with — with Mr. Auchester was ended. Instead of keeping 
him away, I let him come. I thought I could prevent his 
caring very much about me. But I suspect that had begun 
long before. I did stop him several times from saying any- 
thing pointed, and tried to act so that he would see the inti- 
macy, on my part, was for mere pleasure. The morning of 
our ride he was real serious. I evaded him carelessly ; but 
piesently he laid his hand on my horse’s neck, and said, de- 
terminedly, ‘Miss Lily, I won’t be put off in this fashion 
any longer ! You shall tell, me — ’ I knew what was com- 
ing, and hit Bess a hard cut with the whip. She started 
\riolently. I thought I had the reins in my hand — I don’l 


S16 


IN TRUST, OB 




know how it ever came, but it was a fragment of my dres? 
instead. I tried to grasp the bridle, but Bess threw me like 
a flash. I suppose she was as much frightened as I. If 
the rock had not been there, I might have escaped seri- 
ous injury. As it is, I have made you all a great deal of 
trouble.” 

“ And you do not love Mr. Joslyn,” Daisy said, greatly 
relieved. 

‘‘Love him? O, no ! I sometimes wish I did. He is 
po generous, so warm-hearted ! He hasn’t a mean or selfish 
thought, and his wife would reign a very queen. I am 
afraid they all like me too well. I did resolve, a few days 
ago, to — please him, but I cannot ; ” and Lily shivered 
violently* 

“ Why ? ” Daisy was observing her narrowly. 

“ Because I cannot make myself love him. Is it not 
curious that the heart should decide against a person who 
is in every respect worthy, who would take pleasure in 
devoting to one his whole life ? Why not love one good 
man as well as another ? Yet I know I should make him 
wretched.” 

“ 0, it would be wrong, wicked, to hold out hope to him,” 
Daisy exclaimed, vehemently. 

“ I know it. For even if I promised, I don’t think I ever 
could marry him. But to disappoint him so bitterly ! And 
yet I suppose I must get well, and go through with it all — 
tell him how little I meant, how selfish and heartless I have 
been. It seems as if good and honorable people will despise 
me henceforth. I hate myself ! It is all ‘ blackness of 
darkness.’ ” 

“ ‘ So when they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, he 
delivered them out of their distress,’ ” repeated Daisy. 

“ What a comfort you are ! After all, it is best to meet 
the result of one’s wrong-doing fairly and without evasion. 
And I have been very wirong.” 

“ Dear Luy, when we have confessed this, God will give 
as strength for the rest, and peace, and happiness.” 


DE. BEETEAND’s household. 


317 


“ No ; I shall never be happy again. I don’t mean on 
account of any one particular event,” — and Lily colored 
violently, — “ but life changes so much. Every bright thing 
fades away, and leaves you only a cold, gray shadow. May- 
be it is the autumn and the mournful winds that make me 
feel so dreary ; but I know there can never be another spring 
to my life.” 

“ There is a ripe and glowing summer yet to come. One 
shadow can never stretch through all time.” 

“ I think I must be content to sit in the shade, without 
spring or sunshine. Forgive me, darling, for all the trouble 
I have caused you. I will try and be a better girl.” 

Lily turned away her face, and Daisy felt it would be 
unwise to continue the conversation. Although she ex- 
pressed no special regret for the lost love, Daisy gathered 
that it was still strong upon her. She had little fear of the 
final result. And now that the ice had been broken, she 
could gradually lead Lily to a better state of mind. There 
was a visible improvement in her on the following morning. 
She went out to the sitting-room, admired Mr. Joslyn’a 
flowers, and seemed resolved to be rarely good-humored 
with everything. But though she discussed the gentleman 
freely, and regretted her behavior towards him with sincere 
earnestness, she seemed resolutely resolved to date her un- 
happiness no farther back than that. She did not shun any 
mention of their stay at the Catskills, but refrained from 
alluding to the relation that had existed between herself 
and Mr. Auchester. In vain Daisy tried to lead (he con- 
versation to this point. She fully understood the delicacy 
of her position, that while attempting to mediate between 
them, she must in no wise conipromis^e Mr. Auchester’s sen- 
sitive pride. 

i^ccident brought about the result at last. Lily wa* gam- 
ing rapidly again. Bichard desired her to be very careful, 
for the least over-exertion brought on a most distr ;ssing 
headache and a recurrence of the fever. Lily was really 
27 ^ 


818 


IN TRUST, OR 


glad to be excused from visitors ; in her present mood she 
wanted no one but Daisy. She walked about her two rooms, 
but had not yet ventured down stairs at the commencement 
of the fourth we^k. 

She was dressed in a pretty wrapper, and lying on the 
lounge in the sitting-room, still pale and somewhat thin, but 
not, as she expressed it, “ altogether frightful.” Daisy had 
curled her hair, which Philip declared the greatest improve- 
ment that could have been made. After reading aloud to 
her the psalms for the day, Daisy took up a little dress she 
was embroidering for Alice, and to please Lily, sang some 
old ballads. This morning it was “Lord Jamie Douglas.” 
She noted the scornful yet approving smile that crossed 
Lily’s face at the verse, — 

“ I whispered in at my lord’s window. 

Yet never a word would he answer me. 

Fare ye well, then, Jamie Douglas ; 

I care as little as ye care for me.” 

But at the last, where true love triumphs over all, Lily 
turned away her face, and presently fell into a light slumber. 

Daisy bethought herself of a letter to Mr. Auchester that 
she had been prevented from writing the day before. Open- 
ing her desk that stood on the table, she went rapidly over 
two pages. Then she began to wonder whether she should 
ever be able to send him the fruit of her faith in Lily. All 
this time he had waited patiently, asking no (Questions ; but 
soon his departure would put it out of her power to do any- 
thing for them. Indeed, could she do anything ? 

Lily stirred, opened her eyes, and closed them again. 
The girls were at opposite sides of the room, the little wood 
fire on the hearth shining out between them. The atmos- 
phere without was soft, mellow, and hazy, the sun partially 
obscured by drifting clouds, only breaking forth now and 
then, with a rosy orange hue. 

Lily’s tone was more careless than curious as she asked, — 

“ What are you writing ? ” 


DB. BEBTBAND’s household. 


319 


“ A letter,” answered Daisy, with a slight flush and hesi- 
;ation. 

“ How odd ! Is it to Dick ? I expect he misses you 
sadly.” 

“ No ; it is to Mr. Auchester.” 

Lily gave a violent start, and flushed redly. 

He is going to Europe shortly,” Daisy went on, keeping 
her voice steadier than the throbbing at her heart. “He 
has accepted a governmental appointment, and will be ab- 
sent three years at least.” 

“ You have seen him,” Lily assumed, faintly. 

“ Yes ; he had been over twice before the day of the 
accident, and after that came regularly. He was very 
anxious about you, and asked me to write as frequently as I 
could.” 

“ Shall you write to him while he is abroad ? ” 

“ Perhaps.” Daisy made an effort to keep her face tran- 
quil. 

There was a long, long pause. Daisy bit the end of her 
pen-holder, and considered what to say next. 

Lily spoke. Her voice was low, as if there had been a 
great struggle, and she was hardly sure of it. 

“ I can think how it will end. I am glad you will both be 
happy. You are the only woman in the world good enough 
for him.” 

“ 0 Lily ! you are quite mistaken. There can never bo 
any sentiment warmer than friendship between us.” 

“ Why, Daisy ? Is it quite impossible for you to love 
again ? ” 

“You do not consider whether Mr. Auchester’s affection 
can be transferred at a moment’s notice.” 

“ There would be nothing to transfer,” she answered, bit- 
terly. “ His fancy for me has perished. I question whether 
it ever amounted to positive love.” 

“ Lily ! ” 

“ Yes,” — Lily raised herself a trifle in her excitement, 


S20 


IN TRTJSr, OR 


“ he thought he loved me, but events proved he had a much 
higher regard for his own will.’’ 

“ And you ! ” 

“ I couldn’t endure being tyrannized over like a baby,” 

“ And so you bestow this tyrant on me ? ” Daisy could 
not forbear smiling. 

“I mean — ” and Lily flushed hotly — “I don’t know 
that I can make you understand ; but Mr. Auchester is a 
really superior man — grand in many things, capable of 
loving with devoted earnestness. He would make some 
woman entirely happy. I want to do him full justice. But 
all the sharp points in our natures were forever coming in 
contact. And so you can see how he needed some one bet- 
ter and nobler, who would study to please him — to whom 
his wishes would be positive delights. I’m not sure but he 
would be very indulgent in that case. Instead of derogating 
from this woman, I acknowledge she would be very much 
my superior.” 

“ I question if he would love her as well. It is not, after 
all, so much what is fit for us as wLat satisfies us ; and I 
think, in the majority of cases, one’s own heart decides 
rightly. But if you understood so perfectly what was 
needed, why did you not conform more to his will } ” 

“ Because it isn’t in me. I can’t be good. I shall always 
be a trouble to myself and every one else. I ishall always 
rush through brambles and thorns for something that looks 
bright beyond, and find it only a Dead-Sea apple.” 

“ Yes, if you depend solely on yourself. But God means 
we shall look to him in the great straits of life, ask him for 
strength. He stands ready to lead us out of by and forbid- 
den places.” 

Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “ You are so sweet,” she 
said ; “ so good. And yet somehow God gave you a great 
deal of sorrow. Isn’t it so all through life ? ^Don’t the 
fragrance and beauty drop out just as one reaches forth a 
hand to gather the flowers, and one finds withered leaves 


DK. BEBTBANd’s HOTJSEHOLI). 


321 


instead ? And to go on weary, waiting, hungering for what 
will never come ! ” 

Daisy smiled over the perversity and inconsequent reason- 
ing. She knew there were many places on the green and 
sunny shore of peace that Lily dared not linger over, but 
glided lightly by, as one does on broken ice, and that her 
heart was longing for the ark from whence it had flown. 

“ Lily,” she said, “ why do you not go back, and confess 
you have been wrong ? You had in your hand all that any 
woman can have ; you blindly threw it away. You taxed 
Mr. Auchester’s love, and faith, and patience to the utmost, 
and in one fatal moment it gave way. Is it wise to sit over 
the ruins, and make them stumbling blocks for all the future 
years ? You cannot deny to yourself that you loved him. 
And in some solitary hours, in some spasm of the better 
nature struggling within you, your heart will refuse the pot- 
tage, and cry out for its lost birthright.” 

“ You think me altogether to blame,” replied Lily, warmly. 
“ He was often unjust and unreasonable for a mere trifle. 
And if he knew me at all, he must have known that in my 
heart I cared for no one but him. Was it pleasant, think 
you, to be continually watched and suspected ? taken to task 
for a word or a laugh ? Ulric Auchester’s jealousy is a very 
tiger.” 

“ You must confess, Lily, he bore many things patiently. 
What proof did you ever give him of your love ? How could 
he trust, when he knew the beacon liked to dazzle with false 
lights ? When you showered favors, that he had sued for, on 
newer faces, and gave him some little fragment, why should 
he have been content ? You are sorry that your heedlessnesa 
has caused and will cause Mr. Joslyn so much suffering ; but 
have you no thought for the man who had a right to build 
all his future on your love ? Think, Lily, he should have 
been your prince — your pride and joy. Do you believe, if 
you had loved as he desired, he would have proved dis^ 
trustful ? ” 


S22 


IN TRUST, OR 


Lily was silent. The voice that she had never been wholly 
able to stifle smote her heart bitterly. 

“Well,” said she, wearily, “it is all over. No mattei 
whose the fault, it is done, past recall. The sooner we for* 
^et, the better for both.” 

“ No ; there is a wiser course.” 

“ What ? ” Lily glanced up eagerly. Their eyes met, and 
she read it all without a word. Burying her face in the 
pillow, her whole frame shook with the effort she made tc 
repress her emotion. She murmured, brokenly, — 

“ No ; I couldn’t, I couldn’t, Daisy. And then he doesn’t 
care for me now. It is right and just that he should despise 
me. He will find some one better.” 

“ I think the woman a man loves truly is always the best 
to him. And if her love proved stronger than her pride ; 
if sorrow was deeper than anger ; if she was brave enough 
to repent, confess — ” 

“ Daisy, he wouldn’t forgive me ! He spoke to me the 
morning he went away. I saw his will in his eyes, and his 
resolve to be complete master, if anything. It roused all 
the defiant blood in my nature — made me wild. I couldn’t 
have felt sorry then if his glance had killed me. 0, you 
little know him if you think he would ever humble himself 
that much again ! His pride is a very giant ! ” 

“ Lily ! ” — the voice was solemnly tender, — “I have 
only to write one word in my letter ; I have only to say, 
‘ Come,’ and he will be here to listen — to forgive, if you 
ask it.” 

Lily choked down her sobs. Now and then one bitter, 
burning cry tore its way up, and was smothered by sternest 
resolution. A cold shiver seemed freezing her. Happiness 
within her reach ! Love at her very door — and such love I 
The weary desolation of the future, that so terrified hei 
when she glanced out upon its midnight blackness, ex- 
changed for peace, for blissful rest ! 

“ What did he say ? ” Her voice quivered with anguish. 


DR. BEKTRAND^S HOUSEHOLD. 


323 


“ My darling, what he said to me is a matter of confidence 
between us alone, which I cannot betray. I can only tel] 
j^ou that if you want him he will come. And there is but 
one condition.” 

She went on with her letter. Lily’s face was hidden ; 
but Daisy saw the convulsive movements, heard the sobs. 
She wondered how she could write so calmly when her heart 
tlirobbed with a wild tumult of hope and fear. 

“ Lily,” she asked, presently, “ shall I send ? ” 

Lily’s heart beat audibly. Without moving, she said, low 
and huskily, — 

“ No.” 

Then Daisy folded her letter, sealed it, and took it down 
to be sent with Philip’s. When she returned, she raised the 
tearful face, and kissed it again and again. 

“ My dearest,” she said, “ since you have decided, you 
•jiust be brave to bear the cross you have assumed. Foi 
your own sake, for all our sakes, you must not make your- 
self ill and miserable. There are many happy days yet in 
store.” 

Happy ! What a mockery it seemed ! This man, who 
should have been the crown and glory of her life, learning 
slowly to forget her — to think her unworthy, incapable of 
high an i generous regard ! How the thought stung her ! 
She did love him. How his nobleness shamed her ! Never, 
never to see him again ! never to be held to his heart 1 to 
hear his voice, and yet to live ! 


S24 


IN TRUST, OK 


CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

Come back with me to the first of all : 

Let us learn and love it over again — 

Let us forget and then recall, 

Break the rosary in a pearly rain, 

And gather what we let fall. 

Robert Browning. 

It would be difficult to describe the mood that led Lil^ 
to reject this last overture of Mr. Auchester’s. There 
was a littli wounded feeling that Daisy should have been so 
preferred in his confidence, and that she should refuse to 
repeat what had passed between them. Yet when Lily 
came to reconsider this point, she blushed for her unworthy 
thoughts. 

Pride was still strong within her. Could she make the 
thorough acknowledgment he would demand ? Her nature 
was strongly self-centred — one of those which refuse utterly 
at first to be purified by suffering ; which, when evasion is no 
longer possible, bear on in stoical silence and contempt. It 
seemed to her now that Mr. Auchester might have taken 
some kinder way to win her back, — as if the grandest and 
kindest thing in the whole world was not the simple truth. 

A sense of shame had much to do with her resolution. 
Looking over the past summer, she could not find any place 
where he had given the provocation. As Daisy said, she had 
tried his patience until it resolved itself into distrust of her 
love. She had been wayward, trifling, fond of power, eager 
for admiration, when, if his would have sufficed, she might 
hai e had it in lavish abundance. How many times she had 
put him off with a little, cold caress, when he had been ready 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


325 


fco lay his whole heart at her feet. Not because she did not 
love him — indeed, she could hardly understand the madness 
now. He was not a humble man, like Mr. Joslyn. He would 
grant favors, but he could not be ruled or forced into any 
step. His manhood, so glorious in its power and integrity, 
could be depended upon to the uttermost. She had always 
admired this resolute strength, even when most earner rly 
contesting it. Yet how could she confess herself altogether 
in the wrong, and have him smile over her with the stately 
consciousness of right ! 

Daisy watched the conflict with a sort of breathless calm— > 
just as we sit still in the luminous light of some great hope, 
knowing it is ours, yet hardly daring to believe. With a 
girl less true and sound at heart than Lily, she might have 
had some doubts, or even if solitude had not been so strongly 
in Mr. Auchester’s favor. It seemed cruel to stand aloof 
from the struggle ; yet she knew if Lily fought this battle 
alone, and conquered self effectually, it would be the begin- 
ning of a new life for her. One by one the strongholds 
behind which she had intrenched herself were giving way 
She grew more uniformly gentle, and by degrees came to { 
higher standard of thought and belief. Her affection had in 
it a vein of sad, yearning tenderness, that one can scarcely 
refrain from answering with tears. . 

A mental contest of this kind could not pass without leav- 
ing some marks of the Are. Philip began to grow extremely 
anxious. 

“ I cannot bear to see her so wan and sad-eyed. This 
lovely Indian-summer weather would’ brace her up, and bring 
some roses to her cheeks. I have half a mind to take her 
out, without waiting for Richard’s fiat.” 

Lily looked wistfully through the golden air, over the hills, 
to the purple river, and then said, almost sadly, — 

“ Not to-day.” 

“ But I’m afraid you’ll never get well and blooming. 1 
should like to see the old riotous spirit once more.” 

28 


326 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ No,” she returned, softly ; “ help me to pray for a hette? 
one. First, ‘ the kingdom of God.’ ” 

“ ‘ And all these things shall be added unto you,’ ” he 
continued, reverently. “ My dear child, God often leads us 
through dark paths, that we may see only the great light 
surrounding Him. And if we follow, even with fear and 
trembling. He will accept. But we must do what He bids, 
suffer what He lays upon us, never doubting but that it will 
be for the best. We must not question what might have 
been, or what will be ; but only believe, take up the cross 
in our way, and find rest in its shadow.” 

Daisy wheeled her chair up to the window, and stood with 
her arm around her, a few moments after Philip had left 
the room. 

Lily was thinking of the cross in her way, that she had 
stumbled over so many times during the past few days. God 
meant she should be very happy. If she missed the great 
joy, it would be only through her own perversity. 

“ Daisy ! ” The voice was faint — a mere breath, as she 
whispered, — “ Do you think he would come — would for- 
give ? ” 

How the words thrilled her ! She could hardly repress a 
wild cry of joy. 

“ My darling, I know he would.” 

The fair face buried itself on her shoulder. There was a 
low, quivering, but distinct sound — the shy entreaty of a 
child, — 

“ Will you ask him to come ? ” 

Daisy kissed her for the answer she could not give. She 
hardly knew how full of tears her own eyes were until she 
board Lily’s sobs. Smiling through them, she ran away. 

Lily sat in the silence of a great joy, too happy to think. 
H(5r crown of thorns had blossomed into roses. She trem- 
bled in every pulse, she drew her breath gaspingly, and yet 
she was no longer miserable. The dear old world glittered 
and was full of rejoicing ; the sky above shone as in other 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


327 


days. Involuntarily there went through her heart th« * 
words, — 

•* And yet, perchance — O Heaven ! such thing might be, 

As that one giant joy should come to me. 

Eclipsing common joys.” 

Daisy lingered a moment in the hall, to regain her com- 
posure. Then she went to the study. Mr. Chaloner sat 
reading a paper. 

“ You are going to New York ? ” she said. 

“ Yes, in the next train. Can I do anything for you ? ” 

“ A great favor, if you will.” 

She drew some paper towards her, and took up Philip’s 
pen. Her greatest trial for the past week had been to 
refrain from prematurely startling Mr. Auchester. But she 
had the gift of rare, exceeding silence. Now she hardly 
knew what she wrote ; but it was enough to send the shad- 
ows of unhappiness trooping to their darksome abode. 

“ If you will call at the Metropolitan and leave this note ; 
or better still, see Mr. Auchester. He might like to send an 
answer.” 

“ With pleasure.” And Mr. Chaloner gave her one of 
those courtly bows to which his white hair seemed to add a 
peculiar grace. 

Philip drove around at that instant. A moment later her 
messenger of peace was on its way. 

Then she returned to Lily. Both girls flushed with 
unwonted embarrassment. Lily’s eyes still shone with tears. 

“My darling!” Daisy exclaimed, “you deserve much 
praise for your courage. I wanted to help you, but I had 
been put under bonds.” 

“ I feel weak and cowardly enough. My heart faints 
within me at the thought of meeting him, and yet I long to. 

I am glad it cannot be until to-morrow.” 

Daisy started, but held her peace, and allowed Lily to 
believe the letter was going by mail. But in her inmost 
soul she felt that the day and evening would not pass without 
bringing Mr. Auchester. 


328 


IN TBUST, OB 


“ He won’t think it unwomanly — will he r Ho is so pir« 
ticular on some points.” 

“ Since he gave the permission, you shall not render your- 
self miserable with vain surmises. What else could have 
been done ? ” 

“ If I were only better ! But when I think of all that has 
occurred since, I am afraid he can never love me again. It 
is right that he should know.”. 

“ Yes. But he has never ceased to love you ; so there is 
no need of beginning again. Bo not conjure up mountains 
of unnecessary trouble. Rather wait on the Lord, and Jie 
will bring it to pass.” 

Sound, healthy vitality was a component part of Lily’s 
temperament. Repentant she might be, but not morbid. 
So resilient a nature works its own cure. Her spirits began 
to rise visibly, for the battle was ended. Never in all her 
life would she have to fight such a contest over again. 

Daisy read to her a long while. After dinner she bestowed 
her on the lounge, administered a composing draught, dosed 
the shutters, and gave her strict injunctions to go imme- 
diately to sleep. Her strained nerves relaxed, yielded to 
the pleasant influence, and she soon fell into a tran(^uil 
slumber. 

A peaceful air seemed brooding over the house. The 
drone of bees, the chirp of late insects, and the song of 
birds, had a lazy, monotonous sound, brimmed with the de- 
liciousness of languor. The spicy air was full of golden 
films, the tree tops shone in crimson and gold, and wher- 
ever Daisy’s eyes fell, a glowing picture of still life pre- 
sented itself. You could not connect it with motion. She 
always remembered this day with wondrous vividness. 

Baby Alice was in a quiet mood also. She lay on a pillow 
on the floor, — while Mabel sewed, — now ‘and then turning 
her wondering eyes gravely to her father, who looked up 
from his book to chirrup to her occasionally. 

Daisy knew s^me explanation was needed before Mr 


DE. BERTEAND’s household. 


329 


A-Uchester made his appearance. Both Philip and Mabel 
had delicately refrained from questioning her about the let- 
ters. Seizing this golden opportunity, she bespoke Philip’s 
attention, and related her story, excepting the episode con^ 
oerning herself, that events had proved manifestly untrue. 

Philip listened in astonishment. 

“ My dear Daisy ! ” he exclaimed, “ you are a most coura* 
geous little body. You have certainly bearded the lion ia 
his den, and come off more than conqueror. That you 
should have found the way to Lily’s heart, actually made her 
take the first step towards a reconciliation ^ surprises me 
beyond measure.” 

“ I could not have done it but for her love. That was my 
most powerful ally.” 

“ I was sure of it,” rejoined Philip, triumphantly. “ I 
knew Lily must have a heart — it’s a distinctive Bertrand 
feature. As for Ulric Auchester, he’s a splendid fellow, and 
deserves a better wife ; but Pm thankful he has fallen to 
Lily’s share. I only hope he will keep her in better order 
than heretofore. She used to vex me last summer. If he 
had used a ‘ high hand,’ as people say, he would have saved 
himself much trouble.” 

Mabel laughed. “We have all tried at managing Lily, 
and Daisy has succeeded the best of any. In the depths of 
my heart I am glad she is to fall into such good keeping. 
She would drive a weak man to distraction, and make herself 
miserable. Such a nature is best governed by a superior will.” 

“ I question if Lily has not more thoroughly subdued her- 
self than any one would have been able to subdue her,” sard 
Daisy. 

“ Auchester will take good care that the volcano doesn’t 
break out again, I think. Daisy, there is no possible adjec- 
tive tliat can be* bestowed on you to do you justice. Who 
would have thought, a month ago, that we could all be so 
happy ? ” And Philip caught up Alice, half smothered her 
with kisses, and held her out at arm’s length. 

28 '^ 


830 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ My little daughter,” he continued, with amusing gravity, 
“ if you grow up half as beautiful, and are half as great a 
flirt, as your aunt Lily, you shall be soundly whipped and 
sent to bed without your supper ! ” 

Alice gave a smile that portended she might grow up as 
pretty. 

liily slept for three hours. Daisy brushed her hair and 
put on a dress, announcing her intention of asking Philip 
and Mabel up to tea. 

•'I certainly feel well enough to go down,” said Lily. 

May I to-morrow ? ” 

“If you wish,” was the rejoinder. 

The supper was a decided success. Lily received her 
visitors in great state. She looked bright and charming, 
and was in excellent spirits. 

“ Tessy ought to be here,” remarked Philip. “ She enjoys 
anything like this wonderfully, for her grave face is only a 
mask that covers a fund of inexhaustible drollery. I expect 
she matronizes Richard in an astonishing degree. You will 
find him perfection when you return, Daisy.” 

“ As if he had not always been perfection in Daisy’s 
eyes ! ” responded Lily, archly. 

A torrent of brilliant blood rushed to Daisy’s face. She 
could not give the slightest reason for it, and to banish it, 
joined the laugh against herself. It was well she did not 
notice the freemasonry of glance between husband and wife, 
or she might have blushed again. 

Philip rose and made a speech in his most grandiloquent 
style, regretting that it was necessary for him to leave the 
delightful group, but he really was compelled to go to the 
station after Mr. Chaloner. 

The housekeeper carried away the dishes. Lily sat on 
the lounge, having a good romp with baby Alice. Mabel 
and Daisy tried to talk unconcernedly. But when the sound 
of carriage wheels broke upon them, Daisy’s heart gave a 
great bound. Three men alighted, and there was no mis- 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


331 


taking that tall, handsome third, although the purple dusk 
was falling fast. 

“ Come, my little lady ; ” and Mabel took her baby in her 
arms. “ It’s bedtime ; so you must make believe kiss aunt 
Lily, and go.” 

“ 0 dear ! ” said Lily, ruefully. “ Don’t send me to bed, 
please. I slept through seven distinct spheres this after- 
noon, and feel in a most royal state. I have half a mind to 
go dcwn and surprise Mr. Chaloner.” 

‘‘ Daisy ! ” called Philip. 

Mabel made a pretence of baby “ good nights ” to cover 
the retreat. Daisy almost ran over Mr. Chaloner in the 
hall. He caught her in his arms. 

“ Did I bring you home the proper reply ? ” he asked. 

But your smile answers. Is there to be peace in the 
Household ? ” 

“ I believe so.” 

“ Thank God, for Lily’s sake. And Mr. Auchester is 
worthy of the highest happiness.” 

She entered the open drawing-room door. Both her hands 
were taken in an earnest clasp. 

“ 0 Daisy ! ” Mr. Auchester began, in a voice so full and 
rich that she listened, unconsciously entranced. “ How can 
I believe it ! ‘ Her own wish,’ you said, ‘ after days of strug- 
gling.’ What a will the child has ! I have read your letter 
times without number to-day. My precious, precious friend ! 
Your clear vision and brave heart have saved me pangs of 
untold anguish. Can I see her soon ? Every moment seems 
an age ! ” 

“ Yes,” Daisy answered, with a tremulous laugh, “ if y(»u 
will only release my hands, so that I can go and prepare 
her. She fancied that the letter went by mail, and do^«n’t 
expect you until to-morrow.”* 

“ You would be a perfect treasure to a stage manager for 
surprises ! ” he returned, gayly. “ You need not put a girdle 
round the earth in forty minutes, but bring me to happinesa 
in less time than that, I pray you.” 


332 


IN TRUST, OR 


She was gone. Mabel, on the stairs, gave her a sque^^e 
and kiss. She went straight on to Lily, and then stood still 
in perfect bewilderment. 

“ Let me go down stairs,” pleaded Lily. 

“ No.” She drew a long breath, and struggled for com- 
posure. 

“ What is the matter, Daisy ? ” Lily glanced in her face 
with startled eyes. 

“ I have word from Mr. Auchester.” 

“ 0 Daisy ! ” and she uttered a wild cry. “ Will he come ? 
No, don’t tell me he will not ; it would kill me now.” 

“ My dearest, he is here ! The note went with Mr. 
Chaloner. Be calm, for I cannot send him up until I am 
sure of you.” 

“ Here ! Let me think a moment. I seem blind, and 
drowned in happiness ! The long, dreary night is to end, 
the everlasting day has come ! 0 Daisy ! is it all true, 

true f How good God has been to me ! And how good 
you have been ! ” 

She sat still, quite exhausted. Presently, in a tone that 
was calm from excess of joy, she said, — 

“ Go for him, Daisy.” 

He was in the hall, and sprang up stairs the instant he 
heard the door open. Daisy beckoned him in, and passed 
out herself. The room was in a glow of orange and purple 
twilight, through which the fire sent arrows of gleaming 
flame. His eye took in the drooping figure, the shining 
curls, the sweet face. 

“ Lily ! ” he said, softly ; and yet it was the man’s invol- 
untary authority that spoke. 

A cry, sad, sweet, touching in its utter humility, faltered 
up through quivering sobs. 

“ 0 Ulric ! let me come back to my old place in your 
heart. Do what you will, only love me a little ! ” 

“Always, my darling! Please God, nothing shall ever 
again come between us.” 


DR Bertrand’s household. 


333 


** Never again ! ” and she lingered over the words with 
exceeding tenderness, as if they were sweet to say. 

And then they were content to remain silent through mo- 
ments of bliss, so pure, so exquisite, that no pen is worthy 
to describe them. The true level of both lives had been 
reached. For them there could be no more doubt, no more 
coldness. They grew into one heart, one life, as all true 
love must, — she rejoicing to be his, he rejoicing to be hers. 
He raised the dear face, and kissed away the tears sweeter 
to him 

“ Than all the smiles in Christendom.” 

Daisy gave the lovers all the time she dared. She sat in 
Mabel’s room, dreamy and quiet. Both hearts were too 
full for any talk on the subject so dear and precious, and 
all others seemed out of place. She allowed two hours to 
elapse before she went up and tapped lightly at the door. 

“ Come in,” said Mr. Auchester. What a cheerful ring 
there was in the voice ! 

“ A most unwelcome visitor, I know ; ” and Daisy crossed 
over to be encircled by an arm slender and soft from the 
one side, strong and manly from the other. “ Doubtless 
you have not the remotest idea how much time has passed. 
If you have not smoothed out all the crooked paths, I quite 
despair of you. Being Lily’s keeper for the time, I shall 
have to invite you to relinquish your charge.” 

“ 0, not quite yet, please.” 

“ Don’t make me cruel,” said Daisy. “ I shall have to 
give an account to Dr. Bertrand, and wish to present Liiy 
in good order. She has had enough excitement for the 
present.” 

“We have been talking of — of our future lives,” con- 
tinued Mr. Auchester ; and it seemed such a sacred thing to 
touch upon, that his voice fell to a tender pathos. “ And 
Lily agrees with me that a marriage will be best. She is 
quite willing to trust my love in ail things. But it muse be 


334 


IN TRUST, OR 


BO soon — and will Dr. Bertrand consent ? What do yon 
think about it ? 

Daisy started. Lily to go away — for years, perhaps. 
Then, as her mind took in the whole matter, she answered, 
slowly, — 

“ I think he will. I believe it is right and best.” 

“ Bravo ! ” and he gave her hand a little squeeze. 

“ I suspect,” Lily said, dryly, “ that if you asked Bichard 
for the roc’s egg, Aladdin’s lamp, or the key to the north- 
west passage, he would give them to you straightway. 
Ulric, you see, is a little afraid of him.” 

“ If you think I mean to set Daisy at any more hard 
work, you are mistaken. And I shouldn’t feel surprised if 
he delivered you over to my keeping without a word.” 

“ Out of pity, because you will have so many afterwards,” 
annoted Lily, saucily. 

He laughed. “ Daisy has trained you so well that the 
prospect does not alarm me. And since we owe our happi- 
ness to her, I suppose I must learn how sweet it is to 
obey.” 

He rose with his arm still around Lily. 

“ It is 5es^,” Daisy replied, with a bright smile. 

“ But I mean to have her all day to-morrow. I give you 
fair warning.” 

“ I shall resign my commission, I think. Dr. Bertrand 
will surely come.” 

There was a little more tender talk between the lovers, 
lingering good-night kisses, and Ulric turned away reluc- 
tantly. 

“ Don’t you keep Daisy very long,” he said. “ Think 
how many weeks I have been without the sight of a dear, 
familiar face, and be merciful. I want a nice talk with 
her.” 

“Ask what you will. I am in a princely, generous 
tnood.” 

He came back for another kiss, 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


335 


Wlien the door was closed, Lily took Daisy’s face between 
her hands, and looked for many seconds in the deep, un- 
troubled ey^s. 

“Daisy,” she began, “ Ulric told me all, — what yon 
had never even let me suspect.” 

“ It was not fair.” Daisy said, struggling to get beyond 
the reach of the watchful gaze. 

“ Yes it was fair and right. His nobleness made it so. 
And, Daisy, we should scorn to have one thought in our 
hearts that we dared not tell each other. And I hardly 
feel right about accepting my happiness until you assure 
me — ” 

“ 0, Lily, Lily ! foolish child ! Not but that he is grand 
enough for any woman to love — only somehow God seems 
to take care of these things in his own way.” 

“ You are so simply, almost severely, heroic, one might 
say, that one hardly knows what sacrifice you are not 
capable of. But 0, Daisy, if it had been another woman — 
a woman who loved him ! I shudder to think of it. Yet I 
could never, never have blamed him ! He was much better 
to me all the time than I deserved.” 

“ It couldn’t have been another woman, Lily. Do not 
think of anything so terrible. It wasn’t with him ‘ the stern 
necessity of loving,’ but simply ‘blind contact.’ We had 
been thrown together so familiarly, and that fateful night we 
met by merest accident. After he had once opened his 
heart to me, it was so easy to go on. It was not the desper- 
ate clutching at straws that led him astray afterwards, but 
th3 sense of desolation, the longing for some balm to apply 
to his wound. With the world, I dare say he was as proud 
and self-contained as your inmost heart could desire.” 

“He does love yju, Daisy. I can hardly explain it, but 
I am happier in the fact.” 

“ I want to be to both as the dearest of sisters.” 

“ As you will be, my darling, forevermore.” 

Presently she began again : — 


336 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ 0 Dais} ! how could I have lived but for you ! When 
I think of his true, priceless love, his patience, his peerless 
honor, I stand quite still, quite still, abashed, and feel like 
saying with another joyful woman, ‘ He raised me by love 
upon the pedestal of his own high thoughts, and I stood 
there, with downcast eyes, worthy of his love, for he had 
made me so.’ Life is too short to repay him. And so you 
need not fear I shall ever hew out broken cisterns for my- 
self again. I feel safe, secure, triumphant in his love. It 
is my whole world from henceforth, my glory, my crown of 
highest womanhood. At last I have come to my inherit- 
ance ! ” 

How lovely she looked! Was this really Lily? Daisy 
felt bewildered. 

“ 0 my darling ! ” Lily said, with her good-night kiss, 
“ it is such a blessed, blessed thing to be happy ! If it was 
not for God watching over me continually, I should feel 
afraid to be alone with it, lest its glory should strike me 
blind. How do people live who never have this light dawn 
upon them, but wander continually through cold and dark ? 
God help them ! And now go to Aim, Daisy. I couldn’t 
be selfish this night, of all nights in my life.” 


DK. Bertrand’s household. 


337 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

And love; because we then are happiest. 

We shall lack nothin^^ having- love; and we, 

We must be happy everywhere — we two ! 

For spiritual life is great and clear, 

And self-continuous as a changeless sea. 

Come to the light, love ! Let me look on thee 1 
Let me make sure I have thee. Is it thou ? 

Is this thy hand ? Are these thy velvet lips — 

Thy lips so lovable ? 

Festus. 

Daisy ^eut as one in a trance. It seemed to her as if, 
pomehow, she was not quite ignorant of this great joj. Had 
Robert brought it, with his handsome face, his winning voice, 
his eyes, that could be so deep and tender? No. Had any 
stray glance fallen in that brief episode with Ulric Auches- 
ter ? 0 ! a thousand times, no. Where then ? She trem- 

bled and dared go no farther. 

A fragrant waft of Hahaneros drifted from the balcony 
She stole out shyly, as she caught sight of Mabel’s dress. 
She would rather have sat down in the deserted study, and 
dreamed. But one of life’s first lessons to Daisy Bertrand 
had been the grandest part of St. Paul’s eighteen-century- 
old definition of charity. Seeheth not her own. It was more 
this than any personal energy that gave her the influence 
every one yielded to without questioning, even enjoying the 
gentle sway. There was no central point of self with her. 
She did daily and hourly for others just what her hands found 
to do ; not in a rigid, duty fashion, but with vital human 
pleasure. And now she went out on the balcony, because 
ihe knew Mr. Auchester was there and wanted to see her. 

29 


0 


338 IN TRUST, OR 

“ 0, is that you, Daisy ? ” He rose and threw away his 
cigar. “ Are you too tired to walk a little way ? ” 

“ I am not tired at all.” 

“ Get a shawl, then. I must begin to copy Dr. Bertrand, 
for carefulness.” 

“ Here is mine ; ” and Bel wrapped her up in shawl and 
Nubia, for the autumn nights were rather chilly. Being thus 
dispossessed, she entered the house ; but Philip remained to 
finish his cigar. 

Mr. Auchester and Daisy walked down the path silently. 
He began, at length, by a commonplace. 

“ What a lovely night ! ” 

“ Yes. In every respect.” 

“I suppose youlhink everything is lovely to me at this 
present moment. Indeed, I’m not sure but it is so. For 
happiness seems to be the best kind of glasses yet invented. 
I have so much to say to you, and yet I hardly know where 
to begin.” 

“ At the very last,” said Daisy, archly. “ The subject 
will read the same both ways.” 

“ Yes.” He drew her closer to him, and in a low voice, 
that was not quite steady, went on : “ From your hands I 
take my happiness. I cannot find words to thank you. I 
shall show you best by guarding it sacredly in all time to 
come. It is such a great and solemn thing to take a loving 
woman and say, as Robert Browning did, — ‘ This woman’s 
heart, and soul, and brain are mine ; ’ and her sweet, pure 
life, forever. I seem in these last few hours to have grown 
out of and above my olden self. It has dropped down like 
a discarded garment. Entering this new and complete world. 
I tremble, y^t I feel strong. You have opened this sphere 
to me, Daisy ; you have brought me out of the tangled 
wilderness into the house Beautiful.” 

“ 0, no,” she lejoined, softly. “ You saw it all yourself, 
long before.” 

‘ Through a glass, darkly.’ I should have gone on blind 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


339 


and dumb, until some fatal day of awakening. How many 
times in the last few weeks I have hated and despised my- 
self for that unintentional falsehood to you, God only knows. 
It has been a rankling thorn, a keen, stinging mortification. 
Yet to-night I feel thankful that a higher power allowed me 
to stumble as I did. It has shown me my weakness, or 
rather my false strength. It has brought me down to the 
level of the most childish thing Lily ever did. And I am 
glad to be there. She shall not shame me in any noble con- 
fession ; and 0, Daisy ! what a royal heart the child has ! 
She has startled me to-night by depths and heights such as 
one dreams of, but rarely realizes. And the past summer, 
nay, all my life, I have had a tendency to an egotistical and 
perhaps selfish indulgence of personal will. It has been ne- 
cessary for me to command a good deal, and I have slipped 
into it imperceptibly. Yet this experience will prove a valu- 
able lesson to me. I shall not again act without considering 
what the result may be. God mercifully shielded you from 
any bitter consequences of my impetuous words. And having 
been under the cloud and through the sea, we shall enjoy 
our good land of promise with a deeper zest. Let me say, 
again and again, that under God it is your gift.” 

“ I am so glad you are happy ! It is not a new love, but 
the dear old one, strengthened, purified.” 

“ You are right. I feel now that my affection for Lily is, 
and ever will be, the one great love of my life. And her 
happiness shall be my study, my chief delight. Not that I 
have ceased to believe a man should be master of his own 
household ; but his authority and dignity are to be tempered 
by the regard he must ever sustain towards the woman who 
fills that dearest of all positions — wife. And relying on a 
better strength than my own, I hope to deal wisely and 
justly, not only with her, but also with myself.” 

“ ‘ Who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not,’ ” subjoined 
Daisy. 

And then they lapsed into sijl^nce. Under this silvery 


840 


IN TRUST, OR 


light both hearts unconsciously went back two months, to 
another glorious night. How changed ! What were tree, 
and shrub, and moonlight then ? Of all women in the world, 
she would be next to Lily in his estimation and regard. A 
weak man may shun a woman to whom he has in some hour 
of extreme bitterness betrayed himself ; but a noble man 
never, unless she proves unworthy of his confidence. 

A bright morning dawned upon Rothelan. Lily was going 
down to breakfast — a great event. She felt her head swim 
a little on the stairs, yet the fond arm around her steadied 
not only her swaying figure, but the palpitant motions of her 
heart. She felt the touch of that protecting hand through 
all her nerves ; a master hand it was, but it no longer roused 
her mutinous blood. She was glad to have it there ; foi 
now, strange even to her own heart, liberty was no longer 
sweet. 

Mr. Chaloner read the morning prayer for the household. 
Lily’s heart throbbed with deepest emotion at the sentence 
in the general thanksgiving, “We bless Thee for our crea- 
tion, preservation, and all the blessings of this life.” 

0, how manifold they had been to her ! There must be 
one continual hymn of praise swelling up from her heart for 
these many mercies. She began to understand what the 
apostle meant, when he said, “ In everything give thanks.” 
Henceforth it was to be not only duty, but delight. 

Some time after breakfast Mr. Auchester took Lily out for 
a short drive She returned radiant, though she confessed 
to feeling a little tired. He arranged the pillows on the sofa 
in the drawing-room for her, and sitting down, talked over 
the time when they first met, and she bad done these little 
favors for him. And he made her smile, as well as blush, 
as he spoke of the many times he had felt tempted to catch 
the pretty white hand and kiss it rapturously. 

She was profoundly thankful that, with all her folly and 
wilfulness, she had never fallen into the habit of allowing 
caresses from others. Ev^ Fred, with all bis audacity, had 


DK. Bertrand’s household, 


341 


stood a trifle aloof. And though there were many things to 
regret, there were few to actually blush over, with her lover’s 
eyes upon her. 

She took the first occasion to mention one incident of the 
ride to Daisy. They had met Mr. Joslyn. And so the per- 
plexing subject was likely to settle itself without any further 
difl&culty. 

She began to develop the possibilities of a magnificent 
woman. Her very face seemed to acquire, in the dawn of 
this ripening love, the steadiness and resolve it had heretofore 
lacked. A bewildering glimpse of sweetness flashed ever 
and anon out of the deep eyes, or the curves of the mouth, 
which was tapidly assuming its olden scarlet. She began to 
realize, with a tender seriousness, what this visit was doing 
for her. Giving Mr. Auchester the right, and he taking it 
every hour, of being yirsi with her. In the summer he used to 
Bay, pleadingly, ‘ 0 Lily, will you not ? ” now he simply said, 
“You will,” as if the matter was beyond doubt or questioning. 

Quite late in the afternoon, as Daisy sat alone by the study 
window, sewing, a familiar form turned into the path. She 
ran to the door without waiting a summons, her face aglow 
with pleasure. All day she had been on the watch for Rich- 
ard, resolved, if possible, to have the first interview. 

“ Well, how are the household ? ” he asked, smilingly. 

He did not stoop to kiss her, for he could not bring his 
feelings to the calm basis of fraternal affection. She re- 
marked it, and it gave her a sense of pain. 

“ Doing splendidly ! to use a Lily-^sm. Philip has taken 
Bel and the baby out, Mr. Chaloner has gone to visit some 
parishioners, and — ” 

“ Why not go up stairs at once, then ? ” he asked, as she 
drew him towards the study door. 

“ Because — no one is there. I have so much to tell 
y^ou.” 

“ Lily ! ” — and his countenance expressed alarm. 

“ She came down stairs to-day. You will think her per- 
29 ^ 


342 


IN TRUST, OB 


fectly well when you see her. I have been trying a new 
cure, and succeeded admirably. So sit down and prepare 
yourself for a good long talk.” 

He seated himself, a little amused at her manner. She 
drew a footstool close to his side, and appropriating it, 
rested her arm upon his knee. 

“We have been so happy, so very happy ! It seems like 
a dream, or a page out of a fairy book. Mr. Auchester 
came last night — I sent for him.” 

Ei chard might have seen it all at once, as she thought he 
would. Instead, he braced himself for the blow with that 
mechanical stoicism we use in the great straits of life, when 
every faculty is stunned. He looked steadily beyond Daisy’s 
face, at the corner of the table. He remembered for years 
afterwards the peculiar conformation of the black scroll-work 
and clusters of flowers on the crimson ground of the cover ; 
and a Church Journal that overhung the edge, so nicely bal- 
anced that he almost expected to see it fall to the floor with 
a breath. The blood curdled at his heart, and impelled him 
to shiver with icy coldness ; but he resisted stoutly. 

She saw his face turning pale. That he could misunder- 
stand her, appeared so utterly impossible that it never crossed 
ner mind. She could only explain it as displeasure against 
Mr. Auchester. 

“ 0 Eichard,” she cried, “please don’t be angry ! I know 
you do not think it for the best ; but Lily loved him so, and 
he was willing to come — to forget all the past. It seems 
so right, so just, to me. Why should two people, who love 
one another dearly, be kept forever apart, and miserable, for 
lack of a few words ? ” 

“ What was it you said ? ” 

Eichard pressed his hand to his forehead, and shut his 
eyes, for the whole room whirled round with lightning rapid- 
ity, and he could no longer think. Was it not Daisy ? Surely 
he bad not heard correctly. 

“Lily and Mr. Auchester — ” but Daisy’s voice sounded 
far away, fathoms deep under the sea. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


343 


She was greatly distressed. With a grave, almost tear- 
lul earnestness of tone, she made another beginning. 

“ I am sorry that you cannot approve. It might not have 
been quite right to take the matter in my hands, but it had 
to be done then, if at all. When you see their perfect hap- 
piness, I think you will forgive me” 

“ Their happiness,” he repeated, in a confused, absent 
way. “ Lily’s and Mr. Auchester’s ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He placed his arm around her with a sudden, ungoverna- 
ble impulse. He gazed into her eyes until the crimson tide 
of her heart flashed up and drowned the white out of brow 
and cheek. His again ! 0, it was too strange, too sweet ; 

incredible ! The very glory of assurance blinded him. 

Presently he made a strong effort to calm himself, and 
asked, — 

“ What about Lily ? ” 

“ It was all my doing. Are you very angry ? ” 

“ Angry with you ? 0 child, Daisy, as if such a thing 

could ever be ! Tell me the whole story.” 

She told it simply, as if she had been a third person, yet 
withal so beautifully, that he listened as to a romance ; all 
the while thinking how wondrously she understood human 
love, and human hearts. 

She brought her story down to the present moment, end- 
ing with, “ They are in the drawing-room.” 

“ Let me think a moment. And they have really resolved 
to be good children. Daisy, how dared you meddle with a 
man like Mr. Auchester ? And am I to go in and give con- 
sent for the second time ? ” 

“Yes,” with a happy smile. “ But 0, Dr. Bertrand — ” 

“ What ? ” he interrupted, with an amused look. 

“Bichard,” she corrected, bashfuUy, “there is another 
thing I want you to do for my sake.” 

“ Anything for your sake. On that ground you may 
dictate terms like a tyrant.” 


344 


IN TRUST, OR 


“ Then,” joyfully, “ I mean to have just my own way. 
And it’s about the marriage. Mr. Auchester doesn’t wish to 
give up going to Europe, and he does want to take Lily with 
him. I think it much better than a long engagement.” 

“ Amen to that,” said Richard. “ Truth to tell. I’m afraid 
Lily wouldn’t be quite safe all that while. And if they do 
love each other, — as now there seems no question about it, 
— I think the wisest course would be marriage, even at this 
hasty rate.” 

“ 0 Richard, you have made me so happy ! ” Then she 
clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed him of her own 
sweet accord. 

He held the little arms in their place for many seconds, 
and gave back kisses uncounted. He wanted to tell her the 
perfect rapture in his heart, but he could find no words. 

“ And you are not displeased ? ” she murmured, her face 
all hidden by his. 

“ 0, no, no. How could I be, when you have restored 
Lily to happiness ? Love is such a dear, precious treasure t 
I am afraid I made a little mistake in the beginning. What 
I intended for carefulness, Lily construed into license. Per- 
haps the wisest course would have been to have relinquished 
all authority in the affair, and delivered her at once into Mr. 
Auchester’s keeping. But it’s so hard always to do the best 
thing for the circumstances. Lily needed a mother’s thought- 
ful care ; ” and he sighed a little. 

Daisy went off to announce Richard. Obeying Mr. Au- 
chester’s invitation to enter, she caught, in his full, rich 
voice, the last lines of Coleridge’s Love, — 

“ I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 

And told her love with virgin pride j 
And thus I won my Genevieve, 

My own sweet, s milin g bride.” 

“ After the poets, Daisy,” he said, glancing up. 

“ And after Daisy, the doctor,” she retur^ned — “a sugges 
fcive alliteration.” 


DR. BERTRAND'^S household. 


345 


“ Dear old Dick ! is he here ? ” and springing up, Lilj 
ran into the hall, to be clasped to a heart whose warmth and 
fondness no fault could ever destroy. 

“ 0 Dick ! ” she began, in a voice “that sounded as if it 
came through waves of tears ; and what she could not say 
was lost in kisses. 

I know all^ my darling. Grod sent Daisy to be an angel 
to us. She always finds the shortest path out to the light.^’ 

“ Yes. And I am so happy ! I believe I never knew 
what happiness was until last night. And, Richard, will 
you — I mean — the trouble was all my fault, and he — ” 

“ Shall have his dear, naughty girl, with my blessing, 
Lily. But one doesn’t need two such lessons in a life. I 
can trust you henceforward ? ” And he glanced deeply into 
her eyes. 

They filled with tears. “ Yes,” she answered, quite 
humbly. 

“ Now for Ulric.” 

Lily was delighted to hear him use Mr. Auchester’s Chris- 
tian name. There had always been a fine, indescribable 
formality between the two. 

The gentleman answered for himself, by advancing to 
meet them. A warm color suffused his noble face, as, 
reaching out his hand, he said, in a tone that clearly asked 
a favor, — 

“ Dr. Bertrand, will you not give me a brother’s place in 
your heart, as well as your household ? ” 

“ Willingly, joyfully ; ” and the two hands rested in a clasp 
cordially fraternal. 

“ If you can trust me, I hope to redeem the past.” 

“ And I think Lily understands better what she is doing 
than she did six months ago. We have all made some mis- 
takes about it — except Daisy.” 

They entered the room again. The manner in which Lily 
clung to Richard touched him deeply. The conversation 
unconsciously fell into a sweet, half sorrowful strain. 


346 


IN TRUST, OR 


Afterwards Richard and Mr. xiuchester discissed the 
subject by themselves, and arrived at a most amicable con 
elusion. 

“ I am sorry to go away, on some accounts,’’ Ulric said, 
“ and if the position was offered to me now Jor the first 
time, should hardly accept it. But, besides being a per- 
sonal friend of Hon. Mr. , the opportunity is really too 

fine to be thrown up without just cause. Since Lily is will- 
ing to go, and has a great desire to travel, I think I can 
make it very pleasant for her.” 

“ It will also be better for you to begin your life away 
from old assy>ciations,” Richard replied ; and thus consent 
was given for a marriage at their earliest convenience. 

“ Auchester is a fine fellow,” he admitted to Daisy, after- 
wards. “ I believe I never did him quite justice before.” 

Mr. Auchester concluded to go to New York that evening 
with Richard. He explained to Lily that there must of neces- 
sity be a great deal to do. 

“ And I’ll write to Alice this very night, and hurry her 
home.” 

“ 0, that would be too bad ! ” exclaimed Lily. 

“ She would rather come, I know. She would never for- 
give us if we went on by ourselves. Besides, she is a capi- 
tal judge of all feminine matters, and will know just where to 
begin, to make the affair come out straight. You are not 
strong yet, and I can’t have you worried with the thousand 
and one things that belong to a wedding.” 

“ How wise you are ! ” Lily rejoined, mischievously. 

“ Yes ; or, at least, determined. So you have nothing to 
do but get well and rosy as fast as possible. I shall be up 
every day or evening until you are strong enough to go 
home.” 

“ I think I could do it now. Or shall I try to-morrow ? ’' 

“ Not until Alice returns. Remember how tired you were 
this morning, and the headaches. I want to show Richard 
what excellent care I can take of you. And now be a good 


PR. BERTRAND'S HOPSEHOa^D. 


347 


child, and obey every word of Daisy’s. I appoint her my 
vicegerent.” 

Lily said good by. Yet somehow it came very hard. 

“ What if I should never see him again, Daisy ? ” she said, 
solemnly, trying to keep back some foolish tears. “ People 
die suddenly, you know — ” 

“ Since you have both been so near the grave, and lived, 
I think you can trust God for the rest.” 

“ I will,” she answered, rebuked for her momentary 
distrust. 

She went to bed quite early, and soon fell asleep. The 
excitement and exertion had not injured her any, they all 
perceived on the following morning. She tried to sew a 
little, and succeeded very well. 

“ I will not be sick a day longer,” she said, in a resolute 
tone. “ It is clearly indulging in laziness.” 


348 


IN TBUST. OB 


CHAPTEE XXXV. 

Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty ! 

Mine — all mine, and for love, not duty; 

Love given willingly, full, and free ; 

Love for love’s sake, as I love thee. 

Duty, a servant, keeps the key; 

But Love, the master, goes in and out 

Of his goodly chambers, with song and shout, 

Constant and happy, merry and free ! 

Miss Mulock^ 

As Mr. Auchester expected, his sister hastened home, 
leaving her tour unfinished. She could not wait a day, but 
went immediately to Eothelan to see Lily, and express her 
delight. Still she was greatly disappointed to think Ulrio 
was again going abroad. She could not resist saying, — 

“I did so hope he would settle down somewhere in quiet, 
and behave like a reasonable citizen of the United States.'’ 

“ I am afraid it is my fault,” began Lily, penitently. 
“If I had not — ” 

“ Well, we will forgive you, since you are to pay for the 
mistake by years of exile. I am more than glad to have it 
end even this way, since you have learned how necessary 
you are to each other’s happiness. But Ulric wants to start 
just as early in December as he can. So you will have only 
about three weeks in which to prepare.” 

“ Three weeks ! ” said Lily, in dismay. “ Why, I believe 
Bel was a whole year making wedding clothes.” 

“ The sooner the better, my dear, for it will grow colder 
every day. It is a bad season for a sea voyage, too ; but 
since Ulric is so resolutely bent on going, the best thing 
seems io be to go as soon as possible. He quoted Mr. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


849 


Rochester to me not an hour before I started : ‘ Fine clothes, 
and all that, are not worth a fillip.’ Still you must have a 
few, I think,” 

“ I don’t knpw what can be done in that little while,’' 
Mabel said. 

“ 0, you’ll see how much I can accomplish. I mean to 
be real industrious after this long idleness,” rejoined Lily. 

Mrs. Suydam laughed. 

If you could have heard half the charges Ulric gave me, 
you would not count on doing very much. ‘ Don’t worry 
her with troublesome details,’ said he ; ‘ for as soon as she 
comes home, I shall take her under my wing, and you will 
hardly catch sight of her.’ ” 

“ Somebody must go out shopping, and all that.” 

“ Ulric may possibly grant you permission to shop, but it 
wouldn’t surprise me if he bought out a dry-goods’ store at 
auction, and sent it home to you.” 

This time it was Lily who laughed. “We will see,” she 
said. 

And they did see. The next day Eichard took Daisy and 
Lily home. Mrs. Suydam and her brother came over to 
dinner, and afterwards they proceeded to make arrange- 
ments. Ulric insisted that Lily was not strong enough to 
be burdened with so onerous a duty, and that Alice should 
take charge of the trousseau^ leaving only the selecting and 
approval to Lily. Eichard allowed, her carte h-anche in the 
matter, glad to have Lily so relieved. Mrs. Suydam’s wide 
experience of fashionable life rendered her competent for 
the undertaking. Her energy, and the cheerful manner in 
which she went about everything, were good to behold. 

So the next day there was a grand shopping excursion, 
which included Daisy, Lily, Mrs. Suydam, and, part of the 
time, Mr. Auchester. After a peculiarly lovely shade of 
blue silk had been selected, his interest flagged, however. 
Mrs. Suydam possessed rare delicacy and good judgment. 
She thought they could find all they needed at Stewart’s ; 

30 


850 


TN TRUST, OR 


and therefore Lily was not dragged about the city. While 
she and Daisy went through various departments for minoi 
but still necessary articles, the lovers discussed the relative 
beauty of white satin and white silk. 

“ I believe I like those soft, heavy silks best,” Mr. 
A-Uchester said. “ I don’t know which is the more suitable, 
but I Jo not ever want to see you in anything stiff, that 
gives you a dressed-up look. I dislike it.” 

“ We’ll have the silk, then,” was Lily’s decision. 

Mrs. Suydam did not think it necessary to purchase more 
than Lily needed at present, for the sake of mere show. 
Her gift was an elegant velvet cloak, at which the child was 
surprised and overjoyed. The whole affair was concluded 
satisfactorily, only Lily whispered to Daisy, “ It doesn’t 
seem as if I had half enough ; but then Mrs. Suydam never 
makes a parade over anything ; so I suppose it’s all right.” 
When she had the dresses fitted, Ulric concluded their num- 
ber was legion. 

Mrs. Suydam carried her point about another matter. 
She wanted the wedding to take place from her house, and 
in Trinity Church. 

“ Ulric said I was not to insist upon it,” she explained to 
Lily, “ because he had to hasten the time in such an un- 
ceremonious manner. But as you are to leave immediately, 
this will be the only compliment he can pay his friends. He 
spoke of it first himself, but he was afraid you would not 
quite approve.” 

Lily thought it made no difference to her, so long as 
Philip performed the ceremony. Richard would rather have 
given his birdling his blessing in her dear old home, but he 
acquiesced, for he could see that it would be more con- 
venient. And then Mrs. Suydam had taken so much trouble 
— was still giving her whole attention to dress-makers and 
little details that would have puzzled Lily sorely. Daisy, 
Mrs. Hall, and the sewing machine made brisk work of it at 
home. There was a continual going back and forth from 


DB. BEBTBAND’s HOUSEHOLP 


351 


city to city. Mr. Auchester was Lily’s relentless shadow. 
He would not listen to such a thing as her sewing, although 
she declared if she was so idle the marriage would have to 
be delayed another month. 

July’s languid state indisposed her for any vigorous men- 
tal exertion ; and so Ulric found his little rebel very tracta- 
ble. She was quite content to leave the guidance of her 
bark in more experienced hands, and drift gently down the 
stream in measureless content. Yet besides this there were 
principle and regard. She had reached that point of affec- 
tion when to inflict pain on one beloved gives the heart a 
pang. Satisfied to be entirely happy, supremacy of will 
tortured her no more with its illusive importance. 

Finding no longer a swift current of opposition to his 
v'ishes, Ulric Auchester grew unconsciously gentle. As a 
commander resolved upon besieging a fortress, he was stern 
and uncompromising ; but after the capitulation, one found 
him the most clement and considerate of conquerors. lie- 
lying fearlessly upon his generosity, Lily found she gained 
more from him than in the early and unsatisfactory days of 
their engagement. 

“ Only,” she said, laughingly, to Daisy, “ he doesn’t want 
me to be too good. He told me a story last night about 
Count and Countess Somebody, — I’ve forgotten the name, 
— who were so very amiable and unselfish that each insisted 
on giving up any point under consideration, and was so in- 
tent upon doing just what the other wished, that the result 
was, they could never agree upon pleasures, or journeys, or 
the commonest events of every-day life. Finally they both 
became angry over so much goodness, quarrelled, and 
parted — an event we desire to avoid, as it w^ould be exces- 
sively inconvenient when we are in Russian wilds.” 

“ Siberia is not far off,” suggested Daisy, with a mirthful 
gleam in her eyes. 

“ Daisy, you do not more than half believe in me. I 
'Suppose it does seem odd to you that I should find something 


352 


IN TRUST, OR 


better in the world than my own ‘ sweet will ; ’ but it is even 
BO. And the matter that once appeared so difficult to me, 
has resolved itself into the simplest of all elements. I just 
begin to learn what a pleasure it is to yield. I suspect I 
have given you all trouble enough, heretofore.” 

Daisy could not forbear kissing the sweet mouth, so ready 
with its concessions. 

Lily astonished Mr. Auchester one day by asking if they 
30 uld not as well embark at Boston. 

“ Certainly ; but why ? ” and he looked surprised. 

“ I’ll tell you why, though you must help me keep it a secret. 
We all went to see Robert off — poor, dear Robin, who never 
came back. It will remind them so much of that. I want 
everything to be gay and happy up' to the latest moment. 
It will be sad enough when it is all over. And therefore I 
want it as little like that parting as we can possibly make it.” 

Tears were glittering in her eyes. Touched by her thought- 
fulness, he replied, — 

“ My darling, it shall be as you wish. I think it a better 
arrangement.” 

So he announced that he intended to take Lily to Boston, 
to show her the city. 

“ It will not do for her to go abroad without having seen 
a little of her native land. I only wish there was time for 
a more extended tour.” 

Nd one questioned or made any comments. And after 
thatj Mr. Auchester kept himself and Lily in the most bril- 
liant spirits. Everything went on auspiciously. November 
was remarkably pleasant ; and although it was rather low- 
ering and cold the last of the month, December came in 
brightly. Mrs. Suydam was untiring, yet never displayed a 
sign of fatigue or trouble. When the dresses were done, she 
packed them, — at least, all those Lily would not be likely to 
want soon. Having travelled much herself, she knew just 
what was needed, and the best disposition to make of every 
article. And last of all the wedding dress was finished ; the 


DR. Bertrand’s household.* 


353 


ml and wreath came home, and some elegant presents were 
sent in that quite astounded Lily. Nothing remained but 
the ceremony. 

“ If it will only be clear ! ” she said, as she laid her head 
on the pillow in her own room at home — the last time she 
was to be there as Lily Bertrand ! Whether she should ever 
come again, God only knew. She trembled at the thought 
of her new life, yet she could not wish it different. Love 
with her was at full tide. Fear was cast out. She cried 
humbly to God that his presence might go with her to 
strengthen and support. 

The morning was most beautiful — a clear, crisp air ; a 
sky of the peculiar frosty blue, seen only on the finest of 
winter days ; and a sun whose splendor had never been ex- 
ceeded. Lily was wild with delight. Before breakfast she 
ran from room to room, saying good by to nooks and cor- 
ners that held for her dear memories, both pleasant and sad. 
Here mamma’s face seemed to gleam out — a sweet, yet in- 
distinct vision, something that brought a waft of heaven and 
the angels. And dear, dear papa ! She drew a long, quiv- 
ering breath. He had carried them up stairs on his broad 
shoulders, played hide-and-seek with them through rooms 
and halls. Here they had all laughed with him on that fatal 
evening. In the room below they had kissed him for the 
last time — the last time ! and then her tears fell fast in- 
deed. A little distance above here, in the cemetery, he lay 
asleep, waiting for the dawn of the resurrection ; beside 
him, baby Charlie — a dream, a strand of Daisy’s life woven 
in with theirs. Here they had laughed and frolicked with 
Robert ; here Mabel’s quiet girlhood had passed, blessed with 
all that makes life so rich to enjoy. And her own ! 0, the 

dear old home ! the happy household, dividing, straying off 
into the keeping of others ! 

She came to the table with a smiling countenance. Her 
resolute will stood her in good stead this day. She kept 
them all merry by the force of her own gay spirits, fully 
30 ^ 


354 


IN TRUST, OR 


resolved to have her day shadowed by no gloDm. Archie 
had returned the night before. After the meal they started 
for New York. 

Mr. Auchester met them at the ferry with the family car- 
riage. As they were riding up, he glanced at his watch, and 
whispered to Lily, “It is ten. Only three hours more;’* 
which called a bright color to her face. 

At Mrs. Suydam’s they were greeted by the Rothelan 
household. Little Alice dressed in her beautiful christening 
robe to do honor to aunt Lily’s bridal ; Bel, sweet and fair, 
in her lavender-colored silk ; Philip, in a sort of merry 
mood, amusing himself by quoting Katharine and Petruchio 
to the blushing couple. 

There was no break or awkwardness anywhere. Every- 
body’s apparel, to gloves and handkerchief, was in the most 
perfect order, and readily found. There was no bustle, no 
disorder, and plenty of time. Indeed, too much, Mr. Au- 
chester thought. The moments lingered unconscionably. 

At length the dressing began. Lily’s hair, always so 
beautiful, needed no more artistic hands than Daisy’s. The 
golden ringlets rippled in their silken sheen and softness like 
a summer sunbeam. And then came the lovely white silk, 
with its ample, flowing skirt and train, its point lace ; the 
veil, whose filmy folds seemed like a soft cloud, toning down 
her dazzling radiance, and shutting within the purity and 
beauty of girlhood. A wreath of orange blossoms and starry 
jasmine crowned her. 

There had previously been a little discussion about Daisy. 
Since her baby’s death she had worn mourning steadily. 
Richard, in his perplexity, had applied to Mrs. Suydam. 

“ A deep purple silk will be the prettiest and most suit- 
able for her,” the lady answered readily. “ There will bo 
nothing in the color to disturb her. I think she will not 
object.” 

The dress had been a gift from Richard. Mrs. Suydam 
managed the rest. A tiny ruche of illusion at the neck and 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


355 


vrrist&, and Daisy was lovely indeed — a pleasing contrast 
to the tall, elegant women fluttering about the apartment. 

Lily went down to the library to be inspected by Mr. Au- 
chester and Richard. She flushed a little as she thought of 
the night of the party, when Ulric first twined flowers in her 
hair, an 1 asked her not to waltz with any one but him. 

Doth gentlemen gazed at her in admiration. Indeed, it 
was impossible to do otherwise. 

“ The carriages I ” announced Tessy, running through the 
hall, bright and childish in her pink silk, and important with 
the thought of holding Lily’s bouquet during the ceremony. 

Lily put her hands upon Richard’s shoulders. Her lips 
moved, but no sound came ; her eyes sparkled with some- 
thing beside their own lustrousness. 

“ I know all,” he said, gently. “ And whatever of pain 
there may have been in the past, I want you to remember, 
when you are far away in your new home, that you have 
given me much joy, much comfort. And in our dear fa- 
ther’s place, whose duties I have often failed to perform 
rightly, I say, God bless you, my darling, forevermore. May 
His face shine upon you continually.” 

“ 0 Dick ! tender and true. Papa could have been no 
more patient — could have loved me no better.” 

He kissed away the tears ready to fall. 

The whole party came trooping down the wide stairs. Mr. 
Suydam gave orders in his courteous fashion, saw that the 
ladies were well wrapped in shawls, and marshalled them to 
the carriages. A niece of his, hardly second to Lily in 
beauty, was to be bridesmaid. 

“ It’s a shame to cover up so much white glory,” Ulrio 
said, with a laugh ; “ but it won’t do to run the risk of hay- 
ing you shiver with the cold, or look like a ghost.” 

They then started. The midday sunshine transfigured the 
winter scene, and imparted a certain warmth to the atmos* 
phere. Arriving at the church, the party lingered a few sec- 
onds to disrobe, and pass under Mrs. Suydam’s watchful eye. 


356 


IN TRUST, OR 


Ulric bent over Lily until cheek and lip touched. 

“ The last kiss of girlhood,” he said. 

It brought a bright flush to her face, whose rosy hu« 
hardly died away during the ceremony. She was amazed to 
find herself so tranquil, listening, answering with solemn 
joy, being given away by Richard, and feeling the ring as it 
slipped to its place on her finger — her golden chain, the 
signet of another’s proprietorship. 

Their pride in Lily was certainly very pardonable. She 
was indeed most exquisitely beautiful as she stood there, 
calm, unconscious of self, yet so thoroughly human and wo- 
manly. Mrs. Suydam was glad to show her to her own and 
Ulric’s friends, dowered in her own right with a peerless 
loveliness no gold could ever buy. And the crowd who 
gazed felt its wondrous power. 

XJlric and Lily knelt to receive the blessing, while the rest 
stood. After this Mr. Chaloner’s hands were folded over 
both heads, and his voice, ripe to tremulousness with age, 
repeated that most beautiful and tender of all benedictions : 
“ The Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord make his 
face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee ; the 
Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace, 
both now and evermore.” 

Before they rose Ulric kissed her. Her husband’s first 
kiss ! Lilian Bertrand’s seventeen years of girlhood were 
ended ; Lilian Auchester’s new life begun. They walked 
slowly out of church in a spirit of great calm and happiness, 
— she trustful, clinging ; he with a certain manly grandeui 
and dignity that enhanced the beauty of his face and figure. 

Mrs. Suydam, with her characteristic delicacy, had for- 
borne to invite even her most intimate friends to the house. 
Her own as well as her husband’s hospitality was of that 
high order which never leaves a sense of obligation. And 
on this last day she gave up the house to them with so cor- 
dial a sweetness that each one felt entirely at home. So 
there was a joyous season of kisses and congratulations 


DK. BEETKAND’s household. 


357 


after their return. All wanted a special look at Lily, and 
she had to stand with Mr. Auchester as she did in the church. 

“ After all,” said Tessy, gravely, glancing at Lily, “ I 
think he is fully as handsome as you ; ” which frankness was 
greeted with a peal of laughter. 

“ Bravo I ” returned Ulric. “ That is the first compliment 
I have had, after all my efforts to render myself elegant as 
j ossible. Tessy, if his High Mightiness, Count Petropo- 
loswatoski is still unmarried, I will whisper a private word 
in his ear, and save him for you.” 

“ I won’t have such a name ! ” was the child’s energetic 
rejoinder. 

A summons to luncheon interrupted them. Lily took off 
her veil, and went to the table in her wedding dress, to the 
great delight of everybody. They had a grand, enjoyable 
time. Mr. Suydam, as host, was admirable. He drank 
Lily’s health, and showered upon them both wishes grave, 
gay, and not a few whose comicality elicited much mirth. 
From the ladies Ulric came in for his full share. 

A little time to don travelling attire, to interchange a few 
of those tender, sisterly words so hard to utter when the 
heart is full to overflowing. Yet they could hardly realize 
that Lily was going away for years. It seemed as if in a 
few weeks she must come back to them. 

A good by to Ann, Martin, and Mrs. Hall, who had 
come over to witness the wedding. The rest went to the 
depot at Twenty-seventh Street. And there Ulric found a 
crowd of literary friends, who had stolen a march upon him 
— friends who shook hands in a heartfelt fashion, breathed 
wishes that would linger like benisons when the blue ocean 
rolled between them They glanced at the bride, in her 
diess of rich, warm brown, not less elegant or graceful than 
when in church, her beautiful face framed in with white and 
scarlet, her golden ringlets gleaming with every movement. 
Her smiles and responses were enchanting. And both wer« 
blessed with a “ Grod speed” from generous hearts. 


358 


IN TRUST, OR 


Lilj nodded from the car window, bright and radiant, as 
they steamed slowly out of the depot. But ti e face she 
turned to her husband was flooded with a rain of tears. 

“ And now,” exclaimed Philip, when they had returned 
to the house, “ nothing remains but for us to drink skal to 
each other, and depart in peace. Dear, winsome Lily ! 
How we shall all miss her ! And yet it is a marriage after my 
own heart. The right man and the right woman, in spite 
of trouble and perplexity. Bichard, my dear fellow, your 
family is thinning out.” 

“ Yes.” Both look and tone were a trifle sorrowful. 

“ And since we have lost our beautiful Lily,” said Mr. 
Suydam, “ I shall lay claim upon this little girl. The chil- 
dren are wild to have her visit them, and I’ll promise no 
dangerous young man shall fall in her way.” 

“ Not quite yet, I hope,” subjoined Bichard, amused at 
the idea of such an event in connection with Tessy. 

Daisy and Bel enjoyed a little feminine cry up stairs. 
Then, much against Mrs. Suydam’s entreaties, they began 
to prepare for a departure. 

“ It has been such a delightful day ! ” said Mabel. “ And 
you have made it doubly enjoyable to us all.” 

“ Lily is worthy of, and welcome to, all that I have done. 
But it is so unsatisfactory to have them go off in this style ! 
I am afraid in a few days we shall begin to consider it a 
dream. And this certainly is the best baby in the world,” 
she continued, tying cloak and hood upon Alice. “ When 
she grows up we will have another bonnie wedding with a 
fair lassie.” 

The most heartfelt adieus were exchanged, and promises 
of visits not few nor far between. 

“ I think, Dick,” Archie proposed, “ that I had better go 
right on to school. Then to-morrow will not be a broken 

d^y." 

Bichard acquiesced. 

“ I’m coming home Christmas to have a good time with 


DK. BEBTKAND’s household. 


369 


you, Daisy ; ” and he kissed her with boyish fervor. “ Tessy, 
child, good by.” 

“ It was such a nice wedding ! ” Tessy said, as they sat 
over their late supper. “ So much prettier than Bel’s ! If 
ever I get married, I shall be dressed in white silk.” 

Bichard bestowed upon her a quiet smile. 

Lily found time during her two days in Boston to write a 
letter home. It was dated by hours. Every time she came 
in from a ride or walk she had a few lines to add. The 
Mall and Mount Auburn were despoiled of much of their 
glory at this season ; but she went to the top of Bunker 
Hill Monument, and to many other interesting places. And 
Ulric was charming beyond any description she could give. 

Bichard was glad to have her take up life in this earnest 
fashion. She had been home so little, of late, that her 
absence did not seem at all strange. The household had 
not been much disturbed by these few weeks of pleasant 
confusion, and soon resolved itself into its former native 
quiet. Tessy went to school, and being a great favorite 
with her young friends, was full of engagements. Daisy 
studied music perse veringly, and attended to Bichard’s 
comfort. 






/ 




360 


tN TBUST. OS 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“ Come ! If you come not, I can wait; 

My faith, like life, is long; 

My will not little, my hope much ; 

The patient are the strong. 

Yet come, ah, come ! The years run fait. 
And hearths grow swiftly cold — 

Hearts, too ; but while blood beats in mine, 
It holds you, and will hold. 

And so before you it lies bare : 

Take it, or let it lie : 

It is an honest heart, — and yours 
To all eternity.” 


A WEEK later, perhaps, Richard came home one evening 
and found Daisy alone in the library, her work-basket on the 
table, and some trifle of sewing in her hand. 

“ This is nice and cosy,” he said, with a cheerful smile — 
“ to sit under one’s own vine and fig tree, — or roof tree, if 
you prefer, seeing the quotation sounds summery, — and 
know there is to be no more marrying or giving in marriage 
for a month, at least.” 

“ I think your rejoicing rather premature ; ” and Daisy 
looked amused. “ Not an hour ago I had my consent, or at 
least approval, asked.” 

“ By whom, indeed ? ” His face expressed his astonish- 
ment. 

“It is quite a story ; so you may as well sit down and lis- 
ten. Our applicant is Mrs. Hall.” 

His quick perception remarked the our in her sentence. 

“ Mrs. Hall ! Well, I am surprised ! Not but that she 
is a worthy woman, and deserves to be happy.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


361 


“ Yes, deserves to be happy. She is good and kind. A 
very excellent gentleman, I believe, who lost his wife several 
years ago, has persuaded her to fill the place. He has two 
daughters, one of whom married last winter, and removed to 
Chicago. The other has kept house for her father since ; 
but she longs to visit her sister, and the sister is anxious to 
have her. Mrs. Hall had promised to marry him in the 
spring, but this younger girl, Carrie, is all impatience to go 
West, and begs her father to hasten his marriage. There 
seems no good reason why Mrs. Hall should refuse. He 
owns a pleasant little cottage, and has a home all ready for 
her — is a steady, an industrious man. I fancy Mrs. Hall 
thinks more of him than she cares to show.” 

“ Well, really ! Of course there is but one thing to say. 
Only, how shall we replace her ? I am afraid it can never be 
done.” 

“ That is just what I want to talk about, Richard ; ” and 
the thoughtful little face was turned from the needle-work to 
him. “ As Mrs. Hall says, nearly everything is so different 
from what it was when she first came here. The children were 
little, and needed much attention, and the sewing occupied 
a great deal of her time. Now the sewing-machine makes 
that easy work ; x\rchie will be home very little hereafter ; 
there are only Tessy, you, and I — a small family. Cares 
are greatl}^ lessened, and Mrs. Hall seems to think we can 
dispense with her very well. Ann is an excellent cook and 
manager, and Martin so willing to do anything out of his 
special province ; so I want you to — to — ” 

Daisy blushed, and became confused. Something in the 
eyes, bent so earnestly upon her, caused the blood to rush in 
quick tides to and from her heart. 

“ The case is stated very systematically. What shall 1 
do r ” 

“ I want to be housekeeper,” she said, bravely. “ I don’t 
seem to have much to do, and, like Ann, I’m afraid I shall 
soon begin to grumble at the lack of work. I want some* 
31 


362 


IN TRUST, OR 


thing to busy my mind about, and give me a pleasant inter* 
est. I dislike to feel so idle and useless.” 

Eichard came around behind her chair. He had intended 
to wait weeks longer before he spoke of his love, for in the 
last few days he had realized how utterly ignorant she was 
of any deeper than brotherly feeling on his part. He meant 
to unfold it by degrees, to draw from her little tokens of re- 
gard, so that, when the time came, she might know her own 
heart. But how few plans of life ever can be put into exe- 
cution ! He felt he must speak now. 

“ Will it not be too fatiguing ? I cannot have your mind 
all occupied with cares and duties to the exclusion of myself. 
You see I have not arrived at the perfection of unselfish- 
ness.” 

“ 0, no. I shouldn’t do very much. And it would never 
take my evenings, for dinner is out of the way so early. I 
think Mrs. Hall would be better satisfied if we did not need 
any one immediately, for in her heart there is a little idea 
of a divided duty. She has devoted herself to your welfare 
for such a long while. At all events, let me try this winter. 
I have grown so well and strong now, that you need not be 
at all afraid.” 

“ Your eloquence persuades me to try the experiment.” 

“ 0, thank you ! thank you, a thousand times ! ” Her tone 
was joyous. “ You have done so much for me, that I long 
to repay you a little.” 

Bending over her from above, he took the sweet face in 
his hands. 

‘•My darling,” he said, in that full tone one falls into in- 
sensibly, in the great moments of life, when one is thrilling 
with the radiance of hope, — happiness. “ My darling, you 
can repay me, and I want to be repaid.” 

She struggled to free herself. Her breath came rapidly, 
ftiid in a sort of blind, confused way, she murmured, — 

“ Can I ? How can I ? ” 

There was a few seconds’ silence. He wanted to look on 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


363 


the beaded cup before he raised it to his lips — the spar- 
kling wine of life ! Then he said, softly and simply, for the 
grandest truths require but few words, — 

“ There is a better and dearer position for you to fill, my 
little Daisy. I love you. I want you to be my wife.” 

“ 0 Eichard ! ” The cry was bitter, heart-breaking. “ 0, 
what made you say it ? What made you love me ? I can 
never, never marry you ! ” 

He started aghast. 

“ Think a moment, Daisy. Why can you not ? Have I 
been too hasty ? ” 

“ No, it is not that. But I cannot marry you. It almost 
kills me to pain you, but the truth is best.” 

Her voice was wonderfully, fearfully calm ; cold it sounded 
to him. He was stunned — hurt and faint to the very heart’s 
core. Such a living, burning, despairing anguish as rushed 
over him, he had never experienced, even when he fancied 
her lost forever. Her tone seemed to cut him off from hope 
still more than her words. 

“0, if you had only let me die long ago, Eichard ! I 
think you kept me alive, and this seems like such bitter in- 
gratitude ; but it is not. Why did God let me live to wound 
you, my best, my kindest friend ! ” 

He tried to recover himself a little. He was still weak, 
like a man who has been drifting about many days in mid- 
ocean, under a scorching sun, waiting for some friendly sail to 
come and rescue him. But her pathetic cry touched him to 
the quick. 

“ No,” he returned, “ you shall not wish yourself dead for 
the sake of any pain you have given me. I will be strong 
and bear it. Yet tell me — ” 

“ No, I cannot ; don’t ask it. I am surely, surely right.” 

He tried to think of some cause. In that moment there 
seemed only one — that she had loved Eobert more than he 
suspeoted ; that she did not love him, and was too Honorable 
to mislead in the slightest degree. 


864 


IN TRUST, OK 


“ 0 Richard, Richard, forgive me ! ” With that cry she 
found her way to his arms, and nestled there like a stricken, 
shivering bird. “ If you knew how it breaks my own heart 
to pain you, you would pity me a little. I will stay here ; I 
will never go away unless you wish it. I will do all I ma^ 
for your happiness ; but that one thing I can never do.” 

Uniionsciously she had appealed to his strongest feeling — 
generosity. Why should he torture her by vain questions ? 
She appeared so positive, so resolved. If she could not love 
him, why not accept his fate like a man ? for every par/g 
he caused her to suffer inflicted double pain upon himself. 
He would always keep her; and, though no tenderer tie 
might come between them, hers would be the one face by 
his hearth. 0, no, it was not quite desolation. 

“ Forgive me, forgive me,” she pleaded. 

“ I do. God above knows how sincerely.” 

“ Thank you.” It was a penitent, half-inarticulate murmur. 

“ Daisy, you will stay here always ? ” 

He called her by the dear name he had given her, causing 
her heart to thrill with thankfulness. 

“ Yes, always, always ; unless you send me away.” 

“ I shall never send you away.” 

The voice was so sweet, so sorrowful ! All the man’s ten- 
derness, all his grand, true love spoke in it. 

“ 0,” she said, brokenly, “ you are so good ! ” 

The wet face touched his. The sweet mouth lingered of 
its own accord. What passed into her kisses that they should 
so stir his very soul ? The effect on him was electrical. He 
was too bewildered to stir or speak. Could it be possible 
she did love, and was still ignorant of it ? He could not 
believe her lost to him. There was some mistake. 

Presently — how, neither could ever have told — they took 
their seats quietly, she pretending to sew, he pretending to 
read. Ann came for some orders, which she gave in a com- 
paratively calm tone ; Tessy returned from a neighbor’s ; 
they all said good night, in the ordinary manner, and 
dispersed. 


DB. Bertrand’s household. 


365 


Richard lowered the light, and resting his elbow on the 
table, dropped his forehead on his hand, and fell into a 
reverie. His heart gave a great bound as he remembered 
Daisy had not once said she did not love him. Was it some 
imaginary duty, or vow to Robert, that bound her ? He 
looked the matter dispassionately in the face. She was will- 
ing to remain ; nay, she evidently seemed to desire it. 
His regard was so precious to her, that she had pleaded for 
it. He knew better now than at any time in his past life 
what love really was, and he understood a woman’s nature 
more clearly. Daisy bore him a deep, tender affection, so 
akin to love that he hardly knew how to make a distinction. 
If it were only haste on his part, and surprise on hers, the 
matter could easily be remedied. Or some duty she fan- 
cied she owed the dead — he would learn what it might 
be, and prove to her that God did not require any such 
sacrifice. He could with a word release her from all 
bonds ; but he must suffer many tortures indeed before 
subjecting her to so cruel a humiliation. That she knew 
or suspected the truth, Richard never imagined. 

Well, he would wait. His patience had been taxed so 
many times that he resigned himself now with scarcely a 
sigh. If she did love him, she could not altogether hide 
it. She would not be able always to evade the close 
watch he meant to keep. Some word, some glance, 
would betray her. He did not wholly despair. 

Tessy had pleaded so to be Daisy’s room-mate, that 
during these cold nights the two shared the same bed. 
And Tessy, innocent child, talked in her pleasant, confi- 
dential fashion, said her prayers reverently, and bur- 
10 wed under the soft comfortables, curling herself up in 
a ball to await Daisy’s advent, the golden-crowned head 
alone being visible on the pillow. 

Daisy tried to read a little, but the words had no meaning, 
and fell on her brain like lead. She took some geranium 
leaves out of her hair — they were beginning to droop 


366 


IN TRUST, OP 


Richard had twined them in the soft- braids just before dinner. 
Her fingers trembled over them caressingly ; then she opened 
her' prayer book, and laid them in with touching tenderness 

“ Daisy, hurry to bed. I’m almost asleep.” 

It was a very sleepy tone. 

She knelt down to pray. It seemed as if she had so much 
to ask for ; yet all she could say was, “ God be merciful to 
me — give me strength and courage to save him.'' Then 
there was a long break. No matter what else she said, these 
sad-toned refrains came in continually. Now and then b 
tear fell, but she did not really weep. Her wet face gre^ 
cold ; her whole frame began to shiver irrepressibly. She 
realized that a sudden chill might lead to sickness, and she 
could not again endure being questioned by Richard ; so she 
crept into bed. Tessy was soundly asleep. With the friendly 
darkness around her, self-control relaxed a little, but she 
never sobbed audibly. 

It was her extreme humility that led her to save Richard 
from what she considered a false step — one he would surely 
regret in coming time. At his first word of love, the whole 
history of her married life rushed over her with one of those 
vivid lightning glances that pierce to the very depths of 
the soul. He dared not, could not, acknowledge her mar- 
riage until after Robert’s death. What if Robert had not 
died ! The thought was too terrible. One other circum- 
stance fortified her mind strongly, and indeed had, all 
the evening. She had acquitted Richard hundreds of times 
for the pain he gave her in not wishing the baby to be called 
by his name. But this had always seemed the strongest 
proof to her that in his heart he felt and recognized the 
peculiarities of her position. There was no anger mingled 
with this. It was right he should do so ; and now, when he 
was carelessly forgetting it, she would save him. 

Save him from what ? 

And then, as if the clouds had been opened, a sudden 
revelation overpowered her. All this time she had been 


Dfi. BEBTBAND’s HOtJSEHOLB*. ’ 


367 


eounting on a mere abstract fact — her duty in a certain vie\^ 
of life. She had not considered the one great love at all. 
This glimpse of her heart terrified her. When or how thia 
new passion had dawned upon her, she could not tell ; but 
she knew it was Richard’s love that had made all these later 
montlis so delicious, and — her love for him. This was the 
glamour that had dazzled her eyes. And now what must she 
do ? If it was right an hour ago not to burden him with a 
half-blighted life, it was right now. Richard was worthy of 
the noblest woman in the land. 

And if in time he met and loved this most noble woman ? 

She placed her hand over her mouth, so that she might 
not be constrained to cry aloud in her anguish. Her eyes 
throbbed and burned like balls of fire ; her heart beat in 
high, surging waves ; but her hands were icy cold. Yes, 
she loved him. And sitting at his table, being his compan- 
ion through long, quiet evenings, interesting herself in all 
matters pertaining to his household, yet knowing the one 
place she could never fill, would be martyrdom. She had a 
dim presentiment that the struggle would be too great for 
her, and she must succumb. Yet the end seemed death; 
and it would be hard to leave such a bright, happy world. 

She heard the clock strike every hour of the night. Most 
of the time she lay with wide-open eyes, peering through the 
larkness for a ray of hope. Once or twice, in childhood’s 
restless love, Tessy fiung her soft arms around Daisy’s neck. 
She kissed the dear face, so like Richard’s. Then visions 
cf Lily fioated by, — the time she had said, “ It is such a 
Uessed, blessed thing to be happy ! ” — the time she had stood 
at the altar — and the last sight of her sweet face. After a 
while morning dawned. 

Six months ago Daisy would have betrayed her vigil. She 
was a trifie pale, and her eyes had a certain weariness ; but 
it was noticeable only to the keenest observer. Richard saw 
it, but let it pass without comment. The breakfast houi* waa 
made cheerful by Tessy’s animated description of her last 


368 


IN TRUST, OR 


evening’s entertainment. Then the child had a hunt for Kei 
books. Richard was waiting in the hall, for he always drove 
her to school in the morning. She ran back to kiss Daisy. 

“ Good by,” said Richard, through the half-open door. 

Daisy swallowed a great sob, and rose from the table with 
unsteady steps. She had no right to complain of the with- 
holding of any caress. But she knew, by the experience of 
those two unforgotten days before Lily’s accident, how ter- 
ribly his coldness could punish her. And, by the same sign, 
she knew how much she cared for him. She began to con- 
sider whether she was really right, and found her firm faith 
of the night before wavering. 

Mrs. Hall had been made happy by an evidence of Rich- 
ard’s interest and approval, and she asked Daisy to go out 
with her to select her wedding dress. This done, they called 
on Miss Carrie Bentley, and found her a pleasant as well as 
pretty girl. 

“She doesn’t seem to dread a step-mother very much,” 
Daisy said, afterwards, with a smile. 

“ 0, no. And when she is at home, I shall try to make it 
agreeable for her. Mr. Bentley is fond of his children, 
and I should be very sorry to come between, and create bad 
feeling. But I think everything will be right.” 

Richard was in and out through the day, as often hap- 
pened when he did not have to visit patients at a great dis- 
tance. Daisy’s evident discomposure touched him, and, it 
must be confessed, gave him a secret thrill of joy. But just 
at dusk, as he was called away by a sudden summons, the 
weary face, with its downcast eyes, moved him to pity. He 
took hei hand in his, but checked the rising impulse towards 
a warmer demonstration. 

“ Daisy,” he began, quietly, “ since we have resolved to 
accept the old life, let us take it up bravely, and be as happy 
as we were before.” 

“ Yes.” She uttered the word mechanically, her wholf 
■oul urot '^ting against the impossibility. 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


369 


“ Kiss me, child. There, we are friends for all time — 

e we not? Mistakes are not irremediable. Kindest good 
ni^ht.” 

His manner threw her completely off her guard. She felt 
pained at the incongruity of his lightheartedness. Not a breath 
escaped him. He was in that mood of subtle penetration, 
when one feels empowered to translate the most hidden 
secret. So he went out into the cool night with a heart 
throbbing from a sense of pleasure, rather than pain. 

On the whole, Daisy was more at ease after this day. 
Ric^'^rd began to manage the case from his premises, ap- 
pea. g blind to the momentary weaknesses that overtook her. 
Mrs. Hall’s approaching marriage interested her. The wed- 
ding was quite a contrast to Lily’s. Mrs. Hall went to church 
in her plain brown silk dress, and after evening prayers were 
ended, stood up with Mr. Bentley and said her vows. Then 
he took her to the new home, where a few friends were wait- 
ing to congratulate and make her welcome. 

Richard had accepted Philip Gregory’s invitation to spend 
Christmas at Rothelan. Under any other circumstances he 
would have preferred remaining at home, but he deemed the 
change advantageous to Daisy. He fancied she was begin- 
ning to droop a little. Tessy and Archie were more than 
delighted. Richard went up with them, and enjoyed the 
pleasant festival, but as he could not stay, came a week later, 
and brought them home. 

The next excitement was a long, closely-written letter 
from Lily. She gave a most amusing account of her sea- 
sickness, and one storm they had encountered. They were 
likely to spend the coldest part of the winter in Germany, 
and had already fallen in with some of Mr. Auchester’s 
friends. It was the old, gay Lily in every line. But when 
she came to Ulric’s care and tenderness, Daisy could hardly 
refrain from tears. These things had a new meaning for her. 

And now their days were indeed rounded by outward calm 
and quiet. The joyous old house took on an almost lonesom€ 


870 


IN TRUST, OB 


air. “ ’Deed, Mrs. Bertrand,” said Ann, one day, “ it’s 
a pity there are no more childers to grow up after Miss 
Tessy. It’s a bad trick they have of making men and wo- 
men. A house isn’t half so pleasant when there’s no one to 
pet and scold.” 

Daisy, who had hitherto been self-reliant to a wonderful 
degree for so gentle a nature, began to grow strangely dis- 
trustful. She had not the courage to go over the events of 
that painful evening again, and tried to satisfy herself with 
the commendation that she had at least acted honorably. But 
a point she had not then considered came up to trouble her. 
If Bichard, knowing all her past life, had loved her, and 
asked her to be his, was it right for her to condemn him to 
unhappiness ? 

She found it (][uite impossible to take up the old thread of 
life, and go on satisfactorily. Knowledge had come in the 
place of innocent unconsciousness, and knowledge is not 
necessarily joy. It cast a sombre, reflective shadow. She 
rarely felt at ease. Sometimes for an hour she forgot the 
burden ; but when she raised her eyes, it confronted her. 
Thus it came to pass that the solitary talks with Richard 
were no longer a delight. A nameless fear crept around her, 
lest in some unguarded moment she should do wrong, since 
she could no longer tell what was right. She took Tessy for 
an intimate companion. A third person had come to be a 
relief between her and her best friend. 

Richard grew stronger and more resolved each day. That 
Daisy was restless and disturbed, he could see plainly. 
That she tried to hide her heart from his scrutiny, he could 
also divine ; but he ceased to fear. When he again besieged 
the fortress, he intended it should capitulate unconditionally, 
lie evinced no impatience ; love was becoming too really grand 
for that. 

The auspicious moment came at last. Tessy had put on 
her choice pink silk in great state for a birthday party of 
one of her schoolmates. While Daisy sewed some blonde 


DR. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


371 


edging on her blossom-tinted gloves, she fluttered around in 
childish delight. Richard and Daisy went out to see her 
safely bestowed in the carriage. 

“ I want to stay a good long while. Be sure not to send 
Martin until after the clock has struck one,” she said. 

Richard smiled in amusement. Then he shut the door, 
and they walked together into the library. For a wonder, 
D iisj made no excuse to hasten away. His easy chair stood 
before the table, and sitting down in it, he still kept his arm 
around her waist. 

She was in an absent mood, and let things go by without 
any thought. She did not even observe the silence, that 
lasted several moments. He fancied the face was paler and 
thinner ; certainly it was sorrowful. 

“ Daisy ! ” A slight turn of his arm brought her to a seat 
upon his knee. 

Roused from her abstraction, she glanced up. The eyes 
that met hers were tranquil, but determined — not to be 
easily evaded. 

“Daisy,” — and the tone was so natural that she scarcely 
started, — “I want to ask you a few questions. Nearly two 
months ago we discussed a matter that gave us both much 
pain. Yet, in thinking it over, I find that I want it settled 
in a more satisfactory manner. Do you love me, Daisy, as 
women do those who are always to be first and best ? Is it 
Yes, or No ? ” 

She was bewildered for an instant. She tried to turn her 
eyes away, but he transfixed them by some subtle magnetism. 
Her face flushed slowly. 

“ I think it is Yes,” he went on. “ Since that night I have 
read much of what you have been trying to hide from me. 
And now, Daisy, as love is clear, what is it that stands be- 
tween us and happiness ? ” 

“0, please — ” There was a world of entreaty in her 
voice, and her face began to droop. He allowed it to fall 
upon his shoulder. Then he continued : — 


872 


IN TRUSl’, OR 


“But I do not please. You have chanced upon a verj 
tyrant this time. I cannot allow you to make us both mis- 
erable. I think you will not want to, when all is understood 
That night I was hasty to speak, and as hasty in giving up. 
But I believe I hold all your happiness in my hands, even as 
you do mine. Speak, Daisy; is it not so? I cannot take 
silence this time.” 

To keep him from raising her face, she said, faintly, “Yes.” 
And then the secret of her heart was told. 

“ There was some trouble I have never been able to quite 
understand. Was it because you loved, or fancied you had 
loved, another ? ” 

No.” 

“ Whatever we may have thought in those early days, we 
have learned since that the true love of our lives was its later 
blossom, not its first ; or, at least, that it is not quite im- 
possible to love again. You will tell me what the difficulty 
was ? ” 

He felt her shiver in his arms, yet she did not offer to stir 
or go away. 

“ I believe I know all the events of your life. There is 
not one that could in the slightest degree alter my love for 
you. Can you say the same for me ? And if there should 
be any word or deed whereby I have pained you. Heaven 
knows I repent it sorely.” 

She knew his love was of the unchangeable. Beating 
against the tide was simply useless ; she must soon be 
overborne by the current, swept away from her fancied 
moorings, and compelled to face this broad, calm ocean. 
What matter ? She was weary of struggling, and repose 
teemed good. She had only to reach out her hand to hei 
guide. 

“You have always been kind — noble.” 

“ That is not sufficient, Daisy. Something is still left 
unsaid. I love you well enough to trust you with every 
thought of my life. I want you to do the same. Trutli and 
confidence are the only basis on which we can rest.” 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


373 


She made a great effort at calmness in this extiemit}^ which 
it was impossible to evade, nay, absolutely wrong. 

“Eichard,” — the voice was faint and slow, and came up 
through tears, — “you said you knew all. And if it had 
been Mabel, or Lily, whose life — ” 

What do you mean ? ” There was no longer composure, 
but alarm. He had never fancied her hesitancy proceeded 
from anything deeper than a little sensitive pride; surely, 
that fatal secret was locked safely in his own heart. 

“ I mean that I know just what you did for me, — gave me 
a home and a name, when I could not have claimed either.” 

She felt the arm around her tremble with strong emotion. 

“ Good heavens, Daisy ! But it is quite impossible ! Child, 
let me look into your face ! What terrible thing have you 
dreamed ? ” 

She was the calmer now. The shadow of fear fell away 
when the brightness of his love shone upon it. The cross 
she had so blindly borne fell into fragments. Her hand 
found its way down to his, and clasped itself among willing 
fingers. 

“ I believe you never meant me to know it, you shielded 
me so carefully. But in an evil hour — ” 

He was all fire and energy. His voice trembled with sup- 
pressed anger. 

“ Did that wretch dare, after all her solemn promises to 
me — ” 

“ No one dared. 0 Eichard, let me bear my own fault. 
I learned it by accident. It was so wrong.” 

“ Daisy,” — his voice was husky and broken, — “ tell me 
the truth, child.” 

She repeated the story — her finding the torn scraps of 
Robert’s letter, her journey to New York, her resolve to go 
away, and her utter inability so to do. More than once she 
faltered, and w^as compelled to pause, thankful that her face 
was hidden from him. 

“ My poor child ! To endure it in silence so long ! Whj 
32 


574 


IN TRUST, OR 


did you not come to me — trust me ? Is not my love suffi* 
cient for you now ? ” 

That sweet tone conquered the last remnant of pride, oi 
distrust, or whatever it might have been, making a gulf be- 
tween them. She had been shielded, not so much by a 
sense of duty, as by the irresistible power of love. It was 
all clear now. 

“ Eichard,” she confessed, with most touching humility, 
‘' I was wrong that night. I am yours, if my life, if my 
love, can atone — ” 

“ 0 Daisy ! sweetest flower of the world, won at last ! — 
at last my own ! 

There was a silence of tender tears, tender kisses. 

By degrees they gained courage to talk over the past. 
Just as one recalls a half-forgotten song some chance word 
has suggested, line by line, until it all comes back, Bichard 
traversed the days, until he thought he must have loved her 
first when she came upon him that morning in Mrs. Davis’s 
room. To him she had never been Bobert’s wife. She 
understood now that it was more from a sense of tender 
exclusiveness, almost jealousy, and not dislike, that he had 
spoken when she had proposed the baby’s name. He told 
her, of his own accord, how he had taken himself to task 
afterwards. And all the incidents of her life, to the episode 
with Mr. Auchester, which, terrible as it seemed at first, 
had led to such happy results, betrayed how she had always 
been, in his heart, — 

“ best, 

Loveliest without compare.” 

She listened as if in a dream. Was there indeed so 
blessed a thing in store for her as this tender, ever-present 
love ! With every word of his she realized it more truly. 
And she was thankful to give him what he prized so dearly 
— her whole heart. The shadows of the past fell away. 
This later love, purified by sufifering, grown strong amid 
long, dreary vigils and many tears, stood boldly forth now. 
and was crowned with a holy, ever-enduring faith. 


DU. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD 


375 


Tess}' came home flushed and happy. Daisy stole shyly 
away from her lover. Yes, it had come to that ! 

There were no difi’erences, no misunderstandings. They 
went their way peacefully, growing more deeply into each 
other’s hearts wdth every passing hour. She felt she be- 
longed to him in a peculiar sense, and he re-read his dream 
of love — this time the blossom of truth, and constancy, and 
manlioc d. They could not take life in Lily’s joyous, riotous 
fashion, but they were none the less happy. 

Mabc] was their only confidant until the bridal day was 
ajipointed. That was for early June — a quiet affair, with 
the same folded hands to bless her that had blessed Lily, 
She took upon herself her true name — Daisy Bertrand, 
Richard’s wife ! It gave her a feeling of sweet, solemn 
awe. 

Afterwards a grand holiday. Not Europe, as Richard 
had once dreamed ; not with the woman who had filled out 
that picture ; but over wonderful lakes and wonderful rivers, 
through cities that had risen as if by the command of the 
fabled genii ; over broad, smiling prairie lands, back again 
to* Niagara, to the St. Lawrence with its crown of beauty — 
the Thousand Isles. How happy they were ! how content! 

Last of all, home. She crossed the threshold, as a blessed 
wife, whose portals she had passed for the first time with 
her dead baby. She clung to her husband’s arm, and 
glanced up into his grave face, and the royal smile that 
illumined it was her welcome. 

“ The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by him, 
and the Lord shall cover him all the day long.” 


376 


IN TRUST, OB 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

That more and more a providence 
Of love is understood, 

Making the springs of time and sense 
Sweet with eternal good; — 

That all the jarring notes of life 
Seem blending in a psalm, 

And all the angles of its strife 
Slow rounding into calm. 

And so the shadows fall apart, 

And so the west winds play; 

And all the windows of my heart 
I open to the day. 

J. G. Whittier. 

Do you care for any more? Great joy, like great grief, 
is sufficient unto itself, and needs no translator. Therefore 
the clasp of happy years must always be Carlyle’s ‘‘golden 
silence.” Yet joy does not come to every one. Wan 
and trembling hands reach out for it often but too vainly. 
Hungry eyes entreat for it with that wordless pathos 
nothing save the coffin lid can shut out — go blindly down 
through life, groping for what has dropped out of their 
cup. God pity them ! Do not such worn and weary souls 
need a heaven far beyond what happy ones require ? 

But of the peaceful years that came to the Bertrands 
there is not much to say. No shadows, few fears. A 
steady going on to the life eternal. Days as perfect as 
ever come to any one. 

Will you look at one more picture — a June day in 
the old garden under the elm tree ? Did you ever pause 
and examine an elm tree that has grown very old ? It has 


DR. Bertrand’s household. 


877 


long, stout arms reaching out hither and thither. When 
these were younger and shorter, they brought the foliage 
together with a peculiar density. The sunlight was sifted 
through in golden grains. For thirty or forty years, mayhap, 
no new branches have grown, only slender little twigs, wav- 
ing things that droop like moss, and flutter to the faintest 
breeze. The long, brown arms are all covered. A cluster 
of leaves hangs out here and there on so fine a stem that it 
seems suspended in mid air, or simply painted against the 
blue sky. And the branches growing farther apart every 
year, with no new ones to fill up the interstices, the sun- 
shine falls through in streams. If we could all be sunnier 
at the last ! 

The family are gathered there, except one who “ is not ” 
— one to whom Daisy even has learned to give a tender 
place in memory. The picture is more perfect without him. 
Alas, that we should say so of any one who has ever been 
one of a happy home circle ! 

Richard Bertrand is ten years older than wheL his dying 
father commended these children to his care. His face is 
still grave, for all its happiness, but so sweet, so full of 
unutterable kindliness blossoming out with steady beauty ! 
Behind him, Daisy, who will never outgrow that look of 
later childhood. Separate her from the rest, and she might 
sit for a study of dawning girlhood. But her children are 
here. Aubrey, who will never be called Richard, though 
that is his name as well, because she keeps it for only one 
in the world. There is something in his face suggestive of 
the Charlie who early fell asleep in Christ. It used to trou- 
ble her at first with a tender, uj.otherly p^in. But this Lily, 
trying to balance herself on her small feet, while her fathei 
steadies her with his hand, is the perfect embodiment of 
laughing babyhood — a little romp, a mischief, a darling 
plague. And beside her uncle, whose favorite she is, stands 
Alice Gregory, bidding fair to emulate in looks, at least, 
the Lily of past times. Below them, at a little distance, 
82 ^ 


378 


IN TRUST, OR 


Philip and Mabel. In her lap she has the latest born oi 
her household, pink and white perfection ; while her sturdy 
boy, two years the junior of Alice, tumbles over Archie’s 
shoulder, now and then achieving a fall on the soft grass. 
They are a little older, but Mabel is still as fair and sweet. 
Cares do not disturb the serenity of her soul. And Archie, 
through all these later years, has been a pride and comfort 
to Richard. He possesses a little of Robert’s elegance and 
winsome manner, but nothing of his disposition. At New 
York they consider him one of the most promising of the 

Seminary boys.” He is looking forward to the time when 
he shall take Holy Orders, and go to Rothelan a young 
deacon, as Philip once planned under this very tree. 

For Philip is rector at Rothelan. The reaping and 
gathering angel of the Lord has taken Mr. Chaloner home 
in the ripe harvest time, after a long and useful life. Philip 
is greatly beloved, as Mabel once wished, “ for his own 
sake.” Rothelan has enlarged her borders on every side. 
At the river side in beautiful Gothic and Italian villas, down 
by the Station, in simple cottages, a mill or two, and many 
new inhabitants. Archie has been planning a chapel for 
this spot. Philip has some trials, but many joys, and the 
warmest sympathy of his parishioners in every good 
word and work. Foremost among his vestrymen, faithful, 
efficient, ready for any labor of love, stands Wilfred 
Joslyn. His sisters are married and gone from home. 
Ho and his mother are alone, will always be, save when the 
daughters come home, bringing their children. It will be a 
pleasant place for them, and in any want or distress an 
abiding shelter. He is a great favorite. His horses and 
carriage, and himself, are at the service of the ladies, and 
those a little passee, or not abounding in this world’s goods, 
welcome his coming with a frank smile. They can depend 
on his kind heart for many attentions. But no one counts 
on marrying him. He shows so plainly in every act, 
every word, that he has settled himself in the groove 


DK. BERTBAND's household. 


379 


where he is to bide all the days of his mortal life. No one 
fancies that he has been disappointed. But the sun rose over 
him once. He is content with that morning, though glow- 
ing midnoon and ripe fragrant evening must come to him 
only in dreams. But he does not go at once to the night 
and darkness. 

H 3 knows Mrs. Auchester has come home, richer by two 
children than when she went away. When she visits Both- 
elan, he will take his mother over in a quiet, old-fashioned 
way, to call upon her ; — his mother was always fond of 
Lily Bertrand. If, somewhere in a quiet nook, he should 
come across her children, straying off with the free daring 
of babyhood, he may, unperceived, give. them the kiss he 
dared not give their mother, for the sake of the dreamland 
children who are never to grow up around his fireside. He 
does not blame Lily. He would much rather have her 
memory to halo his path, than any other woman's love. Of 
the many things she has said and done, he recalls one poem 
she repeated in the shady woods — something about sweet 
white brow, lips of geranium red, and the hair’s young gold. 
Two lines are all he can remember consecutively : — 

“ But one thing", one, in my soul’s full scope. 

Either I missed, or itself missed me.” 

Grod will forgive him. He was there, you know, in the 
hour of the man’s bitter agony, when he went down, as 
many of us have gone, during these eighteen hundred years, 
into a garden of Gethsemane, and prayed first, “ Father, re- 
move this cup,” but afterward, “ Thy will be done.” Among 
the souls of heroes you shall not find a nobler one than that 
of this man, who understands the word only in its common- 
est acceptation. He is content. 

And on the lowest terrace, crowned with the setting sun, 
stands Lily Auchester, her husband’s arm thrown carelessly 
around her waist. The same handsome, refined, and stately 
man, with gracious dignity of carriage, and unstained loftb 
ness of soul shining out of his deep eyes. 


380 


IN TRUST, OR 


But this woman ! A little more than five years ago the 
girl went away. You have all many times in your lives 
realized the simile of the bud and the rose. It is trite, 
but fragrant, and perfect in the way of comparison. For 
this Lily Auchester is regal. She has been glorified by 
wifehood, and glorified again by motherhood. There is 
something almost sacred about her beauty ; it awes you, 
hushes you into that strange quietude, in which you almost 
forget to breathe. Tall, rounded with the perfection of 
symmetry which sculptors adore ; tinted with the coloring 
painters try for, but rarely succeed in prisoning on the 
canvas. The expression of the face bewilders you. You 
feel that she could be haughty, icily cold, hold herself 
far above the common forms of womanhood, if she chose. 
But in her own life she had dignified and exalted them. 
She has lived as if in a happy dream, — 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes,” — 

lingered over the marvels of the old world, with that best of 
all guides — a man who loved them first for their own sake, 
and again because they were so precious to the woman he 
loved best. What days, they have had ! — so full, so perfect. 
Love with them is of perpetual growth. He rejoices in her 
beauty, she has a more than wifely pride in his genius. But 
above all, shining 'with pure, steady light, stands affection. 

She smiles a little over admiration now. At St. Peters- 
burg she had her fill, at Paris a surfeit of it. The em- 
peror remarked the wondrous perfection of that rarest of 
all types, her pure blonde beauty. In her world there 
is but one king. 0 loving and loyal subject, ^Hhe heart 
of thy husband doth safely trust in thee ! ” 

A rosy-cheeked German girl, whose imperturbable good- 
nature shines out in every feature, walks up and down with 
a twenty months’ baby in her arms, and a little four years’ 
old at her side. He kicks the gravelly sand with the toe of 
his pretty slipper, and nurse admonishes him with a gentle 


DE. BERTKAE^D^S HOtrSEHOLD. 


m 


shake. It answers for a moment ; then another shower of 
sand flies before the little feet, and another shake is given. 
But Master Bichard is a sturdy little rebel, and contests a 
point persistently. Nurse hints something about “ papa,’* 
and he looks shyly out of his great dark eyes at the tall 
figure, seeming now the perfect embodiment of ease and in- 
dulgence. But he has already learned, in his childish fashion, 
that disputing papa leads to an encounter in which he comes 
off not second best, or best in any degree — so he desists. 
And yet the child gives his father a most earnest and pas- 
sionate affection, too profound for his years. Both boys 
have inherited their father’s rather than their mother’s 
beauty. That may be a girl’s dower. 

On a rustic seat sits Tessy, and lounging over the back, 
twining flowers in her hair, is a familiar figure, distinct from 
the rest, and yet who may one day be numbered among the 
household. Tessy has Lily’s shining hair, but in less wealth 
of abundance, but not her wondrous beauty, nor even 
Mabel’s classic sweetness. She has an individual sweetness 
of her own, however, that one instinctively trusts, and is 
very dear to Daisy. She is a plant of slower growth than 
the others, but unfolds in daily fragrance. 

Leonard Auchester has hardly reached his full stature 
— not alone as to height and breadth of muscular devel- 
opment, though that is growing more compact and sym- 
metrical. But the man’s soul is coming up into somethmg 
grand, that will presently ring out with electric force, and go 
vibrating down along the years. Wise and powerful states- 
men are made of this materiel. He has a good face. The 
boyish crudenesses have been replaced by manhood’s firm- 
ness and dignity. It does not remind you of Fred’s dan- 
gerous beauty, that sensuous Grecian elegance that carries 
about with it a strand of the old-world heathenism — Fred, 
who is still winning and breaking hearts, and laughing 
daintily. 

Every summer Leonard comes to while away a few pleas- 


S82 


IN TBirST, OK 


ant weelfs in Tessy’s vicinity. Nothing has been said, but 
they can all see the end from the beginning. No one cares 
to disturb this first bloom of love’s young dream. It is too 
sacred to be rudely broken in upon. 

So they all talk in the desultory fashion of old friends 
met together. Many blessed associations cluster about tliis 
place. Here they learned their first lessons of joy and 
grief Here they have laughed and wept. Up stairs, in a 
drawer, there is a box of shining rings of hair that Eichaid 
will keep for a memento, long after Tessy is gladdening 
another home. Here they saw the first steps of a ladder, 
not less glorious than that of Bethel remembrance, reaching 
up to heaven. Some have traversed it already, softly say- 
ing, “ Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.” The rest 
wait in summer plenitude and hope. 

Philip leans over his wife. “ Bel,” he begins, in a low 
tone, “ do you remember the time we sat under this tree 
appointing a wedding day ? I said then that Hi chard, above 
all other men, was the one to cherish a loving wife, and 
have babies prattling at his knee. Look now — the picture 
is filled perfectly.” 

She looks. Richard is sitting on a little elevation in grave 
and tender manliness; Daisy leaning over his shoulder — 
Daisy in that glory of girlhood, that came, as all her best 
things did, in later life. It is such an earnest, entreating 
face, so full of humility, so abundant in sweetness and truth. 
Aubrey has possession of one of papa’s hands, lapping the 
fingers one over the other, until he gets them into a proper 
position, when he utters a magical “Jack, fiy away,” at 
which they all disperse, and resolve into fingers again, to 
his great amusement. The other arm is around baby Lily. 
She steadies herself a moment, gives a little gurgling sound 
of admiration very satisfactory to herself — although her lin- 
gual acquirements are rather limited — and perfectly intelli- 
gible to papa, who smiles as the little soft chin goes down 
upon his knee, and the dear eyes look up fior a commenda- 
tion that babyhood’s unreasoning faith rests in securely. 


DR. BERTRAND S HOUSEHOLD. 


383 


And then, by a sort of electrical intuition, Lily turns 
her eyes upon them. Daisy has a consciousness that they 
are all thinking of her, and the old, shy, dainty blush — 
another thing she will never outgrow — crimsons her face. 
She leans it down on Richard’s shoulder, where it is hidden 
by his beard as he turns from baby to wife. His lips meet 
hers. He kisses in the midst of a smile, and feels rather 
than sees the sunshine ; he also kisses in the midst of tears. 
They never bring any idea of sorrow to him now. Daisy 
would be a little less than Daisy without them. 

“ Richard,” the sweet mouth murmurs. 

“ My darling ! ” 

He remembers what his father said so long ago. Did the 
dying eyes, so soon to open on the glory of God, see more 
clearly? ^’‘A Benjamin’s portion.” 

It is his. 


By AMANDA M. DOUGLAS 

Osborne of Arrochar . . $1.50 Hope Mills $1.50 

A Modern Adam and Eve, 1.50 In Trust 1.50 

The Fortunes of the Fara- Nelly Kinnard’s King- 

days 1.50 dom 1.50 

A Woman’s Inheritance . 1.50 Stephen Dane i.so 

Claudia 1.50 Out of the Wreck. . . . 1.50 

Floyd Grandon’s Honor . 1.50 Seven Daughters .... 1.50 
Foes of Her Household . 1.50 Sydnie Adriance .... 1.50 
From Hand to Mouth . . 1.50 The Old Woman Who 

Home Nook 1.50 Lived in a Shoe . . . 1.50 

Whom Kathie Married . J.50 Lost in a Great City . . 1.50 


Nuna, the Brahmin Girl. By Harry W. French. Illustrated. . 1.00 

The Only One. By Harry W. French l.OO 

A Captive of Love. By Edward Greey. Illustrated 1.50 

The Golden Lotus. By Edward Greey. Illustrated 1.75 

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Marion Graham. By Margaret Woods Lawrence 1.50 

The Demagogue. By D. II. Locke (Nasby) 1.50 

A Paper City. By D. R. Locke (Nasby) 1.00 

The Morals of Abou Ben Adhem. By D. R. Locke (Nasby) 1.00 
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Swingin’ Round the Cirkle. By D. R. Locke (Nasby). Ulus. . 1.00 
Little Baron Trump and His Wonderful Dog Bulger. 

By Ingersoll Lockwood 2.00 

Little Giant Boab and His Talking Raven Tabib. By 

Ingersoll Lockwood 2.00 

Barbara Thayer. By Annie Jenness Miller 1.50 

By SOPHIE MAY 
Sophie May’s “Grown-up” Stories 

Drone’s Honey 1.50 

Janet: a Poor Heiress. Illustrated 1.50 

Our Helen. Illustrated 1.50 

Quinnebasset Girls. Illustrated 1.50 

The Asbury Twins. Illustrated 1.50 

The Doctor’s Daughter. Illustrated 1.50 


Which — Right or Wrong? By Miss M.L. Moreland. Illustrated, 1.25 

The Blind Men and the Devil. By Phineas 1.00 

The Puddleford Papers, or Humors of the West. By H. H. 

Riley. Illustrated 1.00 

Rosecroft. By W. M. F. Round 1.00 

Achsah. By W. M. F. Round. Illustrated 1.00 

The Fall of Damascus. By W. W. Russell 1.00 

Daisy Travers. By Mrs. A. F. Samuels. Illustrated 1.50 

Seola. By Mrs. J. Gregory Smith 1.00 

Brushes and Chisels. By Signor TeodoroSerrao. Tri-color cloth, 1.00 

A Tight Squeeze. By“Staats.” Cloth, $1.00; paper 50 

John Thorn’s Folks. By Angeline Teal 1.00 

Man Proposes. By F. H. Underwood 1.00 

Lord of Himself. By F. H. Underwood 1.00 

Edward Burton. By Henry Wood 1.25 

Mrs. Armington’s Ward. By Mrs. D. Thew Wright ..... 1.00 



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